Loved By All
by Lilith1631
Summary: Draco wants to do the London Marathon... Crack!fic, humour, NOT technicalsporty stuff, COMPLETE!
1. Draco's boredom

Chapter one

It was dusk, and a light pinkish orange glow hit Draco's face. He turned away from the window and buried his head in his boyfriend's chest. But it was summer and the heat of the room, combined with the body heat of his sweating partner, was too much for him. Getting up and heading off for an ice cold shower that would shrivel up his extremities in shock, Draco decided that he hated summer.

He got to the bedroom door and tried to open it with a minimal amount of noise, hunching over the handle and pulling it down slowly, and lowering his own breathing as the door moved away from the frame. One loud creak of the hinges and the morning routine started. "Draco?"

The voice was sleepy and Draco just wanted his shower. Abandoning his fight with the door, he strolled back over to the bed and flopped on top of his boyfriend, bestowing a kiss that mingled their diabolic morning breath. Draco was sure the kiss was pleasurable for neither of them.

"Morning," greeted Harry, wrapping his arms around Draco's shoulders and peppering kisses over his face with a smile.

"No Harry!" whined Draco, "I'm gross! Let me go shower."

"You could never be gross." The kisses continued, but Draco was having none of it. Nobody wanted a sweaty boyfriend.

"Get off, you brute! I need to bathe before my skin soaks up the sweat, or else tomorrow I will sweat the sweat from today, and it will be twice as smelly and four times as foul."

"Draco…"

"No. I need water! Soap! And bloody conditioner! My hair, Harry! Look at it, it's practically limp!" Draco pushed himself up and waltzed back to the door, flinging it open until the handle hit the dent in the wall and walked out into the corridor in all his naked glory. Harry just shook his head in amusement and decided to get a little more shut-eye.

xxx

Draco's showers lasted at least forty minutes and took half the country's water, and Harry took this time to jog. There was a large park near their flat and it took a good half hour to run around. He always stopped by the lobby to collect their mail and chat to Erin the Day Security before heading up to the fifth floor that they called home. Each floor had two apartments. Thankfully the building was wide and they lived quite comfortably in their thousand square foot flat. However, it was a regular occurrence for Harry to be assaulted by his neighbour from the sixth floor when returning from his morning run.

"Hello Harry," said Mrs Wiltson, sixty years old and smiling seductively at him from the stairwell. Harry grinned weakly at her as he rattled around for his keys, somewhat desperately. The last time he accidentally locked himself out of the flat, the old hag had advanced on him at two in the morning in "sexy" see-through pink lingerie, wiggling her wrinkly breasts at him and offering him a place to stay for the night.

"Hello Mrs Wiltson," he replied, pulling the holy keys out, "Is Mister Wiltson alright?"

"He's fine," she said, not interested in talking about her husband, "Eating in front of the telly. Are you doing anything tonight dear? Robert could go to the shops for some cigarettes…we'd be alone then...to catch up." Harry tried to jab a key into the door blindly, accidentally using the car key instead of the flat one. Mrs Wiltson tapped one of her grey Victoria curls hanging over her forehead and began down the last few steps towards him. He-Who-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord felt fear like no other running through him as his asphyxiated old neighbour advanced on him. Just as she was able to reach out and land a shrivelled old hand onto his arm, the door opened, and in the threshold stood Harry's vision of perfection, his saviour. _Oh thank Merlin!_

"Morning Mrs Wiltson," smiled Draco, scrubbing his hair with a towel as he surveyed the scene with deep delight. _Poor Harry looks traumatised_. "Were you and Mr Wiltson okay last night? It was unbearably hot wasn't it?"

"Yes…very hot." Mrs Wiltson had a very delicate balance in her opinion of Draco. She found him alluringly handsome, but hated him with a passion for foiling her plans to entice Harry into a ménage a tois arrangement with her invalid husband.

Draco reached out and grabbed a handful of Harry's shirt, tugging him gently over the threshold, "We won't hold you any longer, Mrs Wiltson. Harry's got to get ready for work. Have a nice day."

She did not look at all happy with that, but put on the smile she used when pinching little children's cheeks and said, "You too. Good day, Harry."

"Good day Mrs Wiltson -" Harry's farewell was cut off as Draco slammed the door shut. "Oh thank you!" cried Harry in relief, "You saved me from a wrinkly death!"

"Then you can show your appreciation and make me breakfast," smirked Draco, slapping Harry on the bum and walking off down the corridor towards the bathroom. Harry kicked off his trainers by the front door and went to the kitchen.

xxx

Harry put the last of his Quidditch gear in the car and the climbed in behind the wheel. Draco was standing on the path, waiting for him to leave. He was dressed in one of Harry's silk shirts, swamping his smaller frame so much that one could hardly see the shorts he was wearing. His hair was messy and static as it dried naturally, and his face was gloomy because he could already anticipate it was going to be a bad hair day.

"Hermione phoned. We're supposed to meeting them at eight."

"Is Weasley going to be there?"

"Why wouldn't he be?" asked Harry, puzzled. Draco shrugged and didn't say anything, just looked off down the road and then back to Harry. He stepped off the curb and leaned through the window, pressing his lips to Harry's briefly.

"See you tonight."

"See you later. Feed the snakes for me, okay?"

"Okay. Go on, before Mrs Wiltson starts to think you have the day off." Both men looked up at the sixth floor windows, one of the curtains pulled back slightly from the frame to show a beady pair of eyes trained down upon them.

"Erm…right…" said Harry, putting the key in the ignition.

xxx

He had already fed the pythons, whose tanks were set into the wall above the television, and watched with morbid apathy as the mice were swallowed live, and the lump of prey slid down the jugular and raised the skin as it made it way down the gullet. And now…he was bored. Standing on the balcony, he looked down over the park of Muggle children pretending to be monkeys on a metal frame, horse riders making slow trots around the roads and holding up traffic, cyclists weaving in and out of joggers, and mothers walking their children to school. All very mundane, all very boring.

"I'M BORED!" screamed Draco. Several people below looked up at his voice, but then continued on their way.

One scabby teenager looked up at him and yelled, "Jump!"

Draco scowled. He didn't have a broom! He might actually die if he did jump. What was that Muggle trying to do?! Kill him? Rudeness! How _dare_ that little git try and murder him. Draco would have AK'd the bloody midget if it weren't for the fact that Harry claimed it was unethical. However, some form of retaliation was needed.

Draco moved back inside, heading for the kitchen with the perfect revenge already plotting about in his mind. There was just one little problem. He would have to work the Muggle technology Harry had insisted they buy. Whilst the toasting-do-hickey was easy enough to work, the cooker was another thing! It pretended to be a flat cauldron but it was actually a cube of doom. Very erratic and it always let off funny smells that made him light headed and made Harry yell at him to 'turn the damn gas off before you kill us!'.

Moving into the spacious kitchen, Draco faced off against the cooker. "Look, I don't like you and you don't like me…but I need to teach that Muggle a lesson and you are going to help me whether you like it or not. Got it?" The cooker didn't reply so Draco assumed that it had begrudgingly agreed to cooperate. Doing as Harry had shown him, Draco gently turned the machine's nipples and pressed a smaller nub down until a click sounded and fire lit up on one of the cooker's circles. Draco sighed with relief. For some reason the cooker didn't like him touching its bits. It always worked for Harry, and Draco was not entirely convinced that Harry was not having some sordid affair with the cooker because he was very confident with its nipples and flames of passion, despite all of Harry's laughing.

Now that the cooker was aflame, he pulled a mini-cauldron from the cupboard and set it on top of the fire. He much preferred these mini-cauldrons to the ones he had to use when he was younger; the plastic handles didn't scold like iron cauldrons through dragon-hide gloves. Rummaging through the cupboards and fridge, Draco came back and began to make a concoction so deadly smelly, Harry would be complaining about the whiff for days on end!

Throwing in week old Indian takeaway, mixed with grated mouldy cheese, and topped with a splash of bubble-puss potion, Draco stirred the contents of the saucepan lovingly, wondering what else he could add to make the mixture truly diabolical. Inspiration hit him like a sack of Snitches and he rushed into the living room, snatched the box from the top of the snake tanks, and rushed back into the kitchen. Opening the box, he took out two of the sausages and grated them like he did the cheese, watching as the bits floated on the surface before melting into the rest of the mess. They had snake-sausages because Harry was too squeamish to put live rats into the tank, so he bought mice-meat shaped like sausage. Draco preferred to watch the blood bath. If he wanted to see sausage-eating he would eat his own breakfast in front of the mirror.

He turned off the fire, apologised to the cooker for fondling it again, and waited for the mixture to cool. Once it was lukewarm and beginning to coagulate, Draco poured it into several old birthday balloons he had salvaged from the cutlery drawer, and placed them into a washing up tub.

Waddling onto the balcony, he placed the tub on the floor and looked over the edge, extremely pleased to see the murderous fiend was still standing in the street. Selecting the biggest balloon from the tub, the outside slightly slick because one of the other balloons had leaked in the bottom of the bowl, he held it over the balcony edge and aimed.

_SPLAT!_

xxx

Draco hated washing up. It was the bane of his existence, and if Harry were there he would have offered sexual favours to avoid such a task. However, washing up was a necessary evil that even pretty people had to endure, because the last rule to any good revenge plot was to destroy the evidence.

He managed to get through the horrible task of washing up by chuckling evilly about the expressions of outrage and confusion on the Muggles' faces. The best part, other than the slime covered teenager, were the spooked horses, bucking their riders off till they were nothing more than trampled puddles of goo. After firmly deciding that lobbing snake chum out of the window was an excellent idea to be used again, Draco stacked and dried all the mini-cauldrons and stirring utensils before declaring himself bored again.

The brief concept of getting a proper job flittered through his head, but he quickly stifled that train of thought by throwing himself down in front of the television and tuning in for some mind numbing porn. Unfortunately, Harry always locked the porn channels after Draco had comatosed himself for three days after discovering 'playboys TV' and became a fossil in the sofa cushions. Therefore, Draco was left to watch…_oh no…anything but the bloody sports channels!_

xxx

Draco knew he was late, but that was okay because he was blonde and being late would fashionably match his hair. He also refused to run to the restaurant because Malfoys don't run and he was only meeting lowly Gryffindors. They could bloody wait!

Stepping into the familiar Chinese restaurant that had too much red for Draco's taste, Draco took his coat off and flung it at a nearby suited minion to put on a peg. He strolled up to the girl standing behind the greeting podium with a pile of menus at her elbow. Her name was Qing and she had a fetish towards turquoise jewelry. Her ears and neck were laddered with jade and moody pebbles. Draco hated her; she chewed gum like a cow in a field and flirted too much with _his_ Harry.

"I'm with the Granger party."

"Right this way, Mister Malfoy." Draco gritted his teeth but followed her silently through the restaurant to the large party of people taking up a table against the war wall near the kitchens' door. Sitting at the table was Dean Thomas and his Mudblood girlfriend, Natalie McDonald, to his left was Seamus Finnegan, the fiery Ginny Weasley, the inseparable bloody twins Fred and George Weasley, George's boyfriend Lee Jordan, and Fred's girlfriend Angelina Johnson, who was currently chatting to Hermione Granger over the gap of a spare chair between them. Next to Hermione was another spare chair, and then Harry, whose face had lit up upon seeing Draco's approach.

"Hello Cretins." Draco snatched the menu out of Qing's hand and glared at her to move on. She sent a flirtatious smile at Harry, which went unnoticed because he was too busy gazing up at his boyfriend. Once she shuffled back to the front of the restaurant, Draco dropped into the spare seat between Hermione and Harry.

"You're late," said Hermione while Draco bestowed a kiss upon Harry's smiling lips.

"Yes, but I'm blonde."

"That's your excuse for everything," she said, "It's not a very valid or logical one."

"I am inclined to disagree," said Draco dismissively, opening his menu and scanning it for the unhealthiest choice that would become his regal upbringing, "I think it is very logical. If you were blonde, then Harry would want to go out with you instead. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Don't be silly," said Harry, "I don't fancy Hermione."

"Well at the moment you don't. But if she had blonde hair, then who knows?! WAITER!" Hermione and Harry sent looks to each other while Draco summoned a waiter with an obnoxiously loud tone that made everyone look round at their table. "You call this service? Hurry up or I shall spend my gold elsewhere!"

"What would you like, Sir?" asked a nearby waiter, coming to stand at Draco's elbow with a pen poised over a notepad.

"Special fried pork chow mien with extra sauce and three egg rolls for the appetizer. Oh, and two Malibu shots, please, and a pint of Carlings," Draco smiled around like he hadn't just ordered a heart attack with noodles and chucked his menu into the waiter's arms. Everyone else ordered a smaller, less fatty version of their own choices, and as the menus were being passed down the table, a commotion was created by Ron. Weasley slid into a chair beside Hermione and smiled at everyone, greeting all of them and spouting what seemed to Draco to be a very insincere apology about time management. Draco scowled. Weasley was definitely not blonde - he wasn't allowed to be late. That was just plain rude.

"What was keeping you so long, Weasley? Even I'm here! There cannot possibly be an excuse to be this late."

"Draco…" began Harry, the smile he had been sporting since his boyfriend's entrance glided off his face. Harry hated when Ron and Draco fought, he felt like he was being torn apart and made to choose.

"New guy in the department met superglue for the first time and stuck his leg to his chair. It took ages to get him separated, but then we had to get the upholstery off his skin," Ron informed Draco. Draco had to admit the idea of a man becoming intimate with an office chair did bring a smirk to his face. Harry let out a sigh and Draco frowned, reaching his hand under the table and linking his fingers through Harry's.

"What's the matter, Potter?" he whispered, leaning so that just the tip of his tongue touched the shell of Harry's ear. Harry drew in a breath.

"Nothing. I'm fine," assured Harry, he was just glad Draco and Ron hadn't launched at each other over Hermione's lap. Draco gave him a scrutinising once-over and leaned in, giving him a sweet, soothing kiss.

"You'd better be okay," warned Draco, slitting his eyes in disbelief before turning his attention back to the rest of the table, still holding hands with Harry under the table. Harry smiled.

"How was training today, Harry?" asked Ron, leaning around Hermione and Draco to look at his friend, his elbows angled all over the table in a terribly unrefined manner.

"It went well, but I think I got a couple of bruises because I got hit by a Bludger. It was an accident, Moran didn't mean to hit it my way -" as Harry droned on, Draco vowed to hex Moran the next time they met and his concentration slid to focus on the twins and Lee. They had their heads together, whispering furtively while pointing at the tiny ceramic candle pots in front of them. The twins' business had bloomed over the years, and Lee Jordan joined the bandwagon after getting on George Weasley's shag list. Angelina didn't seem at all fazed by her own boyfriend's inattention to anything other than candle pots, and was happily chatting to the littlest weasel, Ginny. While Draco was contemplating whether the twins had ever deceived their partners and done the old switcheroo, or if they had just done a foursome, or if Harry would agree to a foursome with the two ginger terrors - not that he abided gingers of course, but twins wasn't an opportunity to be sniffed at - or as he contemplated whether the twins had kinky incest love when they were younger, a pair of hands deposited a pint and two shot glasses in front of him. Tearing his eyes away from the twins, Draco looked at Harry. Harry was already watching him. Quirking an eyebrow questioningly, Harry leaned across and whispered, "No, because I don't share. So stop thinking about it."

Draco looked at his shot glass, "I don't know what you mean."

xxx

Harry tried to support his boyfriend's dead weight across the threshold, but they ended up stumbling in because Draco thought he saw a coin on the ground and wanted to see if it was a Knut or a penny. "Upsy daisy," giggled Draco drunkenly when they toppled and Harry's shoulder jammed painfully against the door, "Tha's s'not a penny. IT'S DIRT! Harry! Look! Dirt! How's it get 'ere?"

"Probably from my Quidditch boots. They made us run laps today," informed Harry, moving his paralytic boyfriend to the sofa. The television was blaring loudly on the history-sports channel. _He must have forgotten to turn it off_, thought Harry as he unlaced and tugged off Draco's shoes. Standing up, he moved off into the kitchen to fetch the blonde a glass of water, otherwise a hangover was going to be impending.

Draco watched as Harry walked away, leaving him alone with nothing but the glowy box that pretending to be like wizard pictures. The pictures were moving and Draco shook his head a little, trying to get his puffed-up eyes to focus on the images. _Ooh…tight clothes_. He stared at the screen with a level of fascination only achieved if you were drunk and gay. Draco watched the men running through the streets, and saw their sex appeal that had attracted the crowds of the city, and his ears tuned in to the commentary like his head was under water.

"What the bloody hell have you been doing?! It smells rancid in here!" cried Harry from the kitchen. Draco blinked at the screen, watching the tight clothed men in millions running through London and pouring water over their heads in desperation. Draco opened his mouth and asked,

"Harry…whassa marathon?"

xxx

End-eth chapter one

Please review! Thank you! Next chapter up Thurs


	2. Revenge

**Chapter Two**

Draco lifted up the corner of his sandwich, peeking curiously at the contents between the bread. "What's this then?"

"Ham sandwich," said Harry slowly, like he believed Draco had hit his head, "You've had one before."

Draco looked at Harry munching on his own, identical, sandwich and frowned back down at his. "This isn't a ham sandwich."

"It isn't?" queried Harry, a small smile gracing his face, because he knew something completely ridiculous was about to come out of his boyfriend's mouth. "I'm sure I made us ham sandwiches."

"Yeah, well…there _might_ be ham in there somewhere," said Draco dubiously, straightening up and flinging back the top piece of bread. He picked up a lettuce leaf covered in Hellman's mayonnaise and chucked it over his shoulder. It landed with a loud _slop_ on the wood floor behind him, and Harry clenched his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Green thing…another green thing…more green…oh, a red thing…" tomato squelched loudly to the floor with its green accomplice, seeds splattering out to complete the mock crime scene, "…yellow thing…what's this? Oh Merlin's skid marks …could it be…oh, I think…YES! HAM!" Draco replaced the top layer of bread and chewed happily on what could now be considered a proper ham sandwich.

"Why could you not have eaten the salad?" asked Harry, looking down at the mess on the floor that he knew Draco would never clean. "How do you expect to run a marathon when all you eat is meat and chocolate?"

Draco narrowed his eyes over his sandwich, "I'm not eating that stuff. It tastes like plant! Do I look like a rabbit to you?"

"So have you changed you mind about the marathon business?" asked Harry, his tone implying a hopefulness that came from a week of arguing about the subject.

"Certainly not. I shall run the marathon and win, and get a medal, and be loved by all." Draco took another bite of his sandwich, then decided that the bread was not worth it either. Soon two slices hit the floor butter side down and Draco was left rolling a lonely piece of ham into a cigar.

"Draco, you cannot be serious," sighed Harry, dusting his fingers off from crumbs and putting his own plate in the dishwasher.

"I am serious. I shall be loved by all," repeated Draco adamantly, nibbling at the roll of meat.

"You can't do a marathon. Be realistic."

"Why can't I?" asked Draco, genuinely confused. Harry almost tore out his hair right there in the kitchen. It would have made a lovely addition to the masterpiece of mess on the floor already.

"Look, despite what the adverts say, running a marathon is not all that healthy. It's a terrible strain on the body and…" Harry knew that saying this was signing his own celibacy certificate, "you're not physically fit enough to run for twenty six miles. You just don't have the stamina for it."

There was a very long pause while Harry watched Draco's face cloud over, "Excuse me?! Not enough stamina! I do believe it is you who has the terrific cum-record of three minutes in the bed whereas I -"

"It's not about between the bed sheets. Its twenty six miles, Draco! And it's running! You hate running! You say its 'plebeian'."

"Well it is!"

"So then how do you expect to do a marathon?" asked Harry. Draco blinked and the lapsed into contemplative silence. Harry shook his head and dropped to his knees, gathering what was once a perfectly made sandwich. He'd even cut the bread diagonally, just how Draco liked it. Harry preferred rectangles, mockingly bisected, the way Molly Weasley cut hers. Harry had ditched the lettuce leaves, cheese, tomato and soggy bread into the bin and was mopping up the floor with a cloth when Draco spoke again.

"I really want to do this, Harry."

Harry tilted his head up and looked at the serious grey eyes staring down at him. There was no sarcasm, mock or jest in his expression. "What about the fact that it's running?"

Draco shrugged., "Then I will run."

"I don't think you are ready to do a marathon…"

"Its months away. I can train. You're going to the gym soon, aren't you? I can come with you and begin today." Draco jumped from his chair and went to run out of the room to get ready, but Harry coughed. It was not the cough of someone who had a little dust in their throat…it was the cough of someone who was going to tell you something to ruin your day. Draco turned around and saw Harry tilting his head towards the fridge, indicating to the big note pinned up by magnets.

_Meeting 1.30pm. Department of Mysteries. _

Draco kicked the nearest thing within range in a reminiscent show of spoilt-rich-adolescent pique that Harry referred to in his head as a 'Draco moment'. The fridge wobbled precariously under the attack and let out a loud metal clank from somewhere deep inside it. Draco scowled at it like it had sworn at him and just turned on his heel, going off to pout in the living room. _So cute._

_xxx_

By the time Harry was dressed from tête to toe in sportswear, Draco was still in a massive 'moment', nursing a cushion to his chest and refusing to look anywhere but at the TV. That was pointedly playing marathon reruns.

"Right, I'm off. When do you think the meeting finishes?" asked Harry, leaning over the back of the sofa and wrapping his arms around Draco's stiff shoulders. Draco sniffed in displeasure.

"About three."

"Okay, see you then." Harry attempted to kiss Draco, but he turned his head and it landed on his cheek. Harry rolled his eyes. _Typical._ Hoisting himself upright, Harry grinned and ruffled Draco's hair until it was a messy imitation of his own hairstyle.

"ARGH!"

Harry snatched his water bottle up and legged it to the front door, dodging the remote control being lobbed at his head. "Later, sweetheart."

"I'll get you for that!"

_xxx_

As Harry was about to climb into his car, a slight whistling noise alerted him a millisecond before something loud splattered all over the pavement to his right. Harry looked in shock at the funny grey liquid slashed all over the pavement, and sprayed up the side of his car to contrast with the blue paintwork. Gasping in surprise, he looked up and met with a horrible sight; Draco's blonde head peering over their balcony with a very satisfied grin, aiming a purple balloon with what Harry recognised to have 'Happy Birthday Potter!' embossed on the side of it.

"Oh…not good." Harry beeped his keys at his car and ripped the door open, launching in behind the wheel. Just as he closed the door, another balloon of doom fell victim to gravity.

_SQUELCH!_

Harry groaned. Whatever was in the balloon was now slopped over his window, obscuring his view to the outside world. Then the smell settled in. Harry gagged and pressed the electric window down, allowing fresh air and the vapours of the chaos on the pavement.

"EUGH, WHAT THE HELL IS IN THAT?" he screamed up. A loud cackling laughter was his only reply. Harry peeked up from around his soft top roof and saw Draco aiming again. Harry jammed the keys in the ignition and revved the engine into life before slamming his foot down.

_xxx_

Draco chuckled as the Lamborghini Gallardo screeched its wheels in a rush to get away. _That'll teach you._

_xxx_

"Agh…dat musta been one big burd," nodded Seamus, wafting a hand in front of his face and looking at Harry attempting to park his car with the visual obstruction that Seamus assumed was pigeon excrement.

"That didn't come from any bird…" said Ron, walking cautiously towards the car as Harry climbed out.

"Do you reckon it was Dumbo?" Dean and Seamus sniggered, ribbing each other with their elbows.

"What happened, mate?" asked Ron, joining Harry next to the car. Both stared mournfully at what was once a beautiful car.

"I messed up Draco's hair," Harry's voice was low and slow, and full of morbid astonishment. Seamus snorted and slapped Harry on the back, heading inside with Dean. Ron was whimpering over the state of the bonnet. "Come on, let's go in. I can't look at this any longer or I'll cry." Harry led Ron away, who was experiencing sympathy pains

"Where are Fred and George?" asked Harry as they went past the reception desk, flashing their membership cards to the admissions woman filing her nails with disinterest. They went through turnstiles and headed off towards the exercise machines. Seamus ran off to collect his personal trainer, Luke.

The gym was high tech, rows and rows of machines designed to pump and tone every muscle known to straight men. Each machine had a card reader which monitored everyone's progress through their membership card. The purple and blue colour scheme of the room was tainted with the glow of TV screens that were installed on everything. The place was deprived of the stale odour of sweaty men because of the miracle air conditioning units, and dotted about the floor were bottle stands that were basically blocks of ice with drawn out dips to rest water in.

"They're down at Diagon Alley, working. Some of their employees got stuck in the stock room and now they're in Mungos. No one was willing to work extra days this week so they had to step in," explained Ron, climbing up onto a treadmill and pressing several buttons until the track began to force him into a slow walk. It had taken ages for Ron to learn how to work the technology, but after two years he had become a master at the treadmill settings, and told Hermione constantly that it was better than a hill because he got to watch 'Richard and Judy'.

"That place is a death trap," said Harry. He swiped his card into the electric feed on the butterfly station. '_Welcome Mr. Potter'_ flashed up on the television screen briefly as Harry sat down on the vinyl seat and raised his arms against the arm pads. Gripping the soft padding beneath his fingers, he pushed his forearms around to meet in front of his face and then let them fall back again, creating the first clank of weights behind him.

Dean was fiddling the with television channel on his own treadmill, the headphones snuggled into his ears. As Seamus was approaching with his trainer in tow, Dean seemed to have found MTV on the set and was now starting up the speed for his own jog. Seamus' trainer, Luke, was a good looking man with brown hair and soft brown eyes, and big arms and pecs that were rock hard man-boobs. He was a quiet, engaged, man and the only staff member willing to put up with the flirtation of a horny Irishman. "Okay, lie down on the mat and we'll stretch you." Seamus just grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

As Seamus was getting his knees pushed against his chest, Harry remembered what he was going to tell them since last week. "Draco wants to do the London Marathon."

The other three turned and looked at him, surprise written over their faces. "Really?" asked Seamus. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. You know when we met up for Chinese…I took him home and he was watching TV, and they were doing this coverage on the marathon and now he wants to do it. He was completely drunk, but now he's been mentioning it all week."

Dean laughed hysterically. "Can you imagine? Draco Malfoy…running!" Seamus and Ron were cracking up, grins on their faces as they imagined the Slytherin among them in tracksuit bottoms. Harry was smiling as well. It was a very absurd image.

"Oh my god, that would be so funny! Can you imagine him - Stunning the other competitors to get first place!"

"Does he even know how to run?"

"I don't think so," said Harry. "Even in battle he didn't move faster than a quick walk."

After a few rounds of laughter and making up scenarios which generally involved Draco walking three miles and then getting a taxi over the finishing line, Luke spoke up.

"Erm, if this…Draco person really wants to do the marathon, and he's that bad…we have a training program for competitors. Do you want me to get you a program leaflet?"

Harry stared at Luke in surprise; the others looked at him for his reaction. "Err…"

_xxx_

End-eth Chapter Two

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all the lovely reviews, I always love getting them, I'm a complete comment whore. I hope you all got a reply...if you are replying annoymously, then type in your addy at the end if you want a reply - thanx!!! Next chapter might be up before monday, depending on whether or not I think it will be read before the book release XD 


	3. Practice makes perfect

**Chapter Three**

Draco had, not that he would admit it on pain of baldness, been practicing his running. Yes, practicing, when Harry was at work, or the gym, because that was the only alone time he had. Otherwise they were glued together at the hip, something that people constantly took the piss out of. But Harry had a very nice pair of hips. Identical ones, too! The left one looked exactly like the right one, and the right one hollowed and dented exactly like the left. Very nice. So Draco didn't mind being joined at the hip to Harry Potter. Disgustingly sentimentally Gryffindor, but with the hips of a Greek God.

By practising, he was, to say, running from one end of their flat to the other. And running on the spot. The problem with running in the flat was that the neighbours all thought it was him and Harry having some sort of vertical sexathon. Oh yes. Sexathon. A new word he had made up. Like marathon but with sex instead of running. Harry had laughed at this. Harry had also laughed at brunch-athon.

Running didn't seem as hard as everyone made it out to be. Yes, you got a little warm and he had slipped over a couple of times because his socks had no traction on the wooden floor, but overall, it didn't seem all that difficult. He was ready to try something a bit more advanced. Like…jogging at the gym. Harry had brought home a leaflet a few days ago. Apparently his gym did marathon training and Draco could have his own personal instructor for only twenty pounds a session! That was only four Galleons! Fantastic value, in Draco's opinion. And when he got his instructor, he was going to name him Pablo. He once had a dog called Pablo. Pablo was a hyperactive puppy that Lucius killed because he kept running dirt in and out of the ballroom.

Harry said that instructors already came with names, which disappointed Draco greatly. Harry had also suggested that if Draco was really serious about doing the marathon, then he should do some research on it. Which was why Draco was sitting in front of the computer, which was situated in the living room just before it split off into the corridor that led to the bedrooms and bathroom.

He was navigating his way around the Flora Marathon site with the same efficiency that came from a wizard who thought the internet was monster enslaved by the Department Of The Regulation And Control Of Magical Creatures. He had dragged the mouse, which was called a mouse for no logical reason Draco could think of, and had clicked on the tab 'training support'. Another page appeared that came with all sorts of useful information, and Draco could not wait to gloat at Harry that he knew everything there was to know about sport. As well as learning that his blood production would increase as he trained (would that mean he would blush easier?), he also learned that he would lose fat and become muscled. Hopefully he would get the muscles before he lost the fat because otherwise there would be an in between period where he'd become a stick, and he didn't want that. Sticks weren't very manly.

The site, other than recommending a personal trainer (Pablo, damn it!) also said to get a work out diary and blasphemously suggested he change his diet. Draco promptly ignored that last part. "I ain't eating any vegetables," mumbled Draco to the empty flat. He clicked another page and gasped in horror as he read, "Give up alcohol?!" Snort. "Fuck that."

_xxx_

Harry had decided that there was no harm in letting Draco try and run the marathon. Draco had an attention span of a constipated hamster, and while he was impressed that Draco had managed to keep the barrage of his attention focused on the marathon for two and a half weeks, he knew that it would not last much longer. After Draco learned that running meant sweating, then Harry was sure he would give up.

He was all up for playing the supportive boyfriend part, because not only could he comfort his boyfriend when he gave up, there would be glorious I'm-so-sorry-that-nasty-marathon-made-you-a-failure-do-you-need-comfort-sex. Another reason was because he would get to see Draco exercise, which would provide much entertainment along the way. So where was the problem?

When he had cleaned his car and come home with the pamphlet from the gym, Draco had actually launched himself at Harry and shown his gratitude in a much better way than Harry could have anticipated. Right against the front door!

Why had he been so adamant that Draco not do this again?

Draco propped his head up on one elbow and looked over at Harry with his post-sex smirk, "I can't wait to go to the gym with you tomorrow…and you know what the best bit is?" His smirk grew wider as Harry shook his head, "I get to watch you work out, and we can hit the showers together!"

Harry didn't have the heart to tell him that they didn't have communal showers.

_xxx_

Ron still lived at the Burrow. In fact, many of the Weasleys had not moved out. Ginny was still there while she did her mediwitch course at St. Mungo's, the twins used it as a second base for when they were not sleeping on the floor of their shop or at their partner's houses, Charlie still used it when he came back from abroad visiting, and while Bill had a house of his own in Yorkshire, he often spent weeks on end with his mother. Ron remained at the Burrow for no apparent reason because with the amount of time he spent at Hermione's house, he might as well live there.

Hermione would have bought a house in the city, nearer to Diagon Alley and the wizarding world, but she could not find a home in her price range that could house the large book collection she had gained since Hogwarts. So Hermione lived Berkshire, out in the countryside, where she had a large converted farm house. It was decorated in a rustic style, made from grey-pink stones that made Harry think of the colour of his car bonnet now. Neither Harry nor Draco was surprised when the door was answered by Ron. "Hey! Come on in!"

Harry and Draco kicked off their shoes in the hallway and walked down towards the kitchen where the waft of roast lamb filled their nostrils. The kitchen-cum-dining room was painted with warm creams and oranges, and a large breakfast table separated the two parts of the room. Hermione was standing by the sink, flicking her wand at a pot of potatoes to peel off their skins. She greeted them with a smile. "Hi you guys. Hungry?"

"Starving," exclaimed Draco, he looked around the kitchen, "I see you've tidied up then." It was true. Despite being a very large kitchen, there was barely countertop room because books spewed from every cupboard, cranny and surface. However, today, there were no bowls on top of stacks of books because the shelves were full, there was no rotten milk standing on the windowsill because the fridge had been arranged alphabetically and the milk bottle wouldn't fit between Milton and Miles. Today it was blessedly free of dusty tomes, and sparkly work surfaces gleamed in the soft lighting that completed the countryside lifestyle that the house promised from the outside.

"I converted the other spare room into a library," said Hermione casually. Ron shifted in his chair.

"Hermione! That's four libraries! How could _anyone_ need that many books?" exclaimed Harry.

Draco stuck his elbow in Harry's ribs and smiled beatifically to stop him talking. "A better question would be, where does Weasley sleep now?" Harry looked curiously between his best friends, too.

"Erm…" began Hermione, her face turning pink as she concentrated on the potatoes rather than the men at her breakfast table.

"Fancy a game of chess?" blurted Ron desperately. Chaos completed, Draco smirked and stood up, going off towards the chess set sitting at the far end of the dining room table.

Harry stood up and walked over to stand behind Hermione. "You and Ron eh?" Hermione didn't answer, just concentrated on her potatoes which had already been peeled and now were just being massacred down in size. "We already knew, you know. Since fourth year."

Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw Harry smiling at her. "You're not mad?"

"Of course not! It's about bloody time you two stopped hiding it! I was getting sexually frustrated just from watching you two beat about the subject. I'm happy for you."

"Really? You don't feel left out? Like we've started something and left you alone?" She looked genuinely worry and Harry had to love her. He shook his head in exasperation.

"That's what Draco's for."

Hermione giggled and threw a bit of potato peel at him, "You should have told me sooner. Then I wouldn't have been so frustrated, either."

Harry pulled a face, "Eww, Hermione! That's gross. Keep your straight-details to yourself!" Another bit of spud hit him in the forehead.

_xxx_

Harry had wandered over and moulded himself to Draco's back, resting his chin on his boyfriend's shoulder, and stayed there under the pretence of that he was interested in chess. In actuality he had seen Hermione straining water from the vegetables and had made a run for it before he was asked to -

"Ron, could you set the table for me please?" called Hermione from the kitchen. _Phew, nice escape. Perfectly executed. _

"Yeah, okay!" Ron directed his queen and then stood up to do the plates. Draco wanted to finish the game. A little bit of Weasley baiting was in order.

"Pussy whipped," teased Draco, snatching

"Bottom-boy!" Obviously Weasley had become immune.

"What else was I supposed to do with this prostate? Let it go to waste?" Draco looked down at the board as Ron set out the china. After a few minutes, with which he was mostly distracted by Harry nibbling his neck, it was then that he saw it. "Bishop to B4. Checkmate." Ron rushed over, holding a handful of forks, and looked down at the set in horror.

"Aww shit. Hermione! You distracted me and now he's won!" cried Ron, returning to setting the table. Draco grinned and put an extra tally under his name on the little notepad that always rested beside the chess set when he visited. Once he scribbled down his victory, he squirmed around in his seat until he faced Harry. They devoured each other's tonsils until Hermione called them for dinner a few moments later.

As they sat down to eat, Harry began telling Ron about the latest Quidditch plans for the national England team through a mouthful of roasted carrots. He paid no attention to Draco, who was enthusiastically telling Hermione about his plans for the marathon. "…and I am going to be the fastest runner because Muggles don't have magic and therefore can't be the fastest at anything. And I will get the gold medal and be loved by all. And Harry will love me _even_ more when I win because I will be the champion of those stupid Muggles he likes. Pass the gravy please."

_xxx_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey everyone. I've put this chapter up today because both chapter 2 and 3 are the shortest ones and I felt like I was cheating you all if i made you wait till Monday. Please make sure that when you review, you chapter 2 and 3 seperately. Thanks!! LOVEAGE XD 


	4. Shopping Trip

**Chapter Four**

They drove home via the shopping centre, after dinner at Hermione's, and had popped into WHSmiths to buy a small, black diary that Draco could record his training program in. Looking back on it now, Harry should have had enough insight never to repeat a shopping trip with the blonde menace. Getting said diary wasn't as simple as just strolling into WHSmiths, selecting and purchasing. Oh no! They went to WHSmiths, browsed the selection, Draco deemed all 'utterly plebeian, I wouldn't be seen dead writing in that!' and moved onto Borders to repeat the process. From Borders to the Stationary Box, to Woolworths, to Clintons to Tesco (they were out of milk) and only to go finally back to Borders WHSmiths and to select the first diary Draco had picked. Plain, black, boring. All of that…for a diary.

Pulling the car up in a space outside the shopping centre again, Harry could feel the dread creeping back into his weary bones. This…was going to be a very long day.

_xxx_

"Are you ready yet?" called Harry, tying his left shoelace. He had been waiting for half an hour and Draco was still faffing about in the bedroom.

"Give me a second!"

"You said that twenty minutes ago."

"If I had said 'give me twenty minutes' then you'd have left without me - time is an illusion, Potter…" Something banged loudly from down the hallway, "Okay, I'm ready."

Harry ran to the fridge, and grabbed a couple of bottles of water, and walked back into the living room. Draco was standing by the door. "I thought you said you were ready," sighed Harry, making towards the sofa to wait for another twenty minutes.

"What do you mean? I am ready!" snapped Draco, he put his hands on top of his head, "Why, is there something wrong with my hair?"

Harry looked at his boyfriend, the first chuckle coming through. "Draco…you cannot go the gym in Armani."

"Why not?" asked Draco, tugging the lapels of his jacket.

"Why do you think I wear these clothes to the gym and not my jeans?" asked Harry, going over and capturing Draco's wrist, leading him to their bedroom.

"Bad fashion sense," shrugged Draco. They entered their bedroom, which was painted blood red, as if Draco would allow any other shade for such a horrid colour, with large oriental dragons and snakes stencilled in black. The room would be terribly oppressive if it weren't for the large French windows set on the farthest wall that poured in a ridiculous amount of light onto the King king-sized bed in the middle of the adjacent wall and high standing cupboards with mirrors mounted on the doors - not just because Draco was vain, but because mirrors on the ceiling was tacky.

Harry led Draco to his part of the wardrobes; a considerably bigger portion belonged to the blonde. He opened one door and peered inside. "Do you not have any trackies?"

"Trackies?" asked Draco, his tone spoke volumes about what he thought of whatever trackies were. Harry tugged on his own jogging bottoms. Draco scrunched his nose up and shook his head in disgust. "Definitely not."

"Hmm…okay…any vests?"

"No."

"Any shorts?"

"Only my night shorts."

Harry went over to the bed and stuck a hand under Draco's pillows. After a quick fumble about, he produced a pair of silk black shorts to the sun. "Hmm…stylish. Would you wear these to the gym?"

"My _night_ shorts?!" squealed Draco, appalled.

"They look like all other shorts. No one will know the difference."

"You'll know!"

"So?"

"So you'll tell everyone."

Harry affected a hurt expression, "I would not!" _I so would_.

"You would too!"

"Would not!"

"You would! You just like taking the piss out of me in front of Weasley. You'd tell them all!"

Harry decided not to reply to that. He dropped the shorts back onto the bed. "Okay, so no workout clothes. We can't give you mine because you're a midget -"

"Hey! I'm not a midget. I'm refined!"

"Right. Refined. Whatever," Harry said dismissively while Draco squawked, "Do you have any trainers?"

"Pablo will be at the gym, wont he?"

"No, not a trainer. Trainers! You know, shoes. Anything other than loafers?" asked Harry, exasperated.

"Erm…no?" Draco didn't sound too sure. He didn't know what trainers were, but he knew all he had were loafers…so…probably not unless 'trainers' was a brand name that he didn't know.

Harry mused a little before deciding a course of action. An action that did not take into account the diary incident. "You can't come today. You haven't got the right stuff. We'll go shopping for clothes tomorrow."

Draco was a man of contradiction. He managed to look ecstatic about going shopping, and terribly forlorn about missing out on the gym. Harry was too sympathetic towards Draco's disappointment to realise what he had just boxed himself into.

_xxx_

"Can't we go back to Clarks?" whined Draco, batting his eyelashes as he edged his way towards the exit and back towards the Land of Loafers.

"No." Harry wrapped his arm securely around Draco's waist. Draco shifted a little because he didn't like how the sales assistant was looking at them. Not that he cared what homophobes thought of him, or Muggles. Or silly Muggle girls giving Harry the eye. No, he didn't care at all.

"But Harry. It smells funny in here."

"It's just the rubber. Let's get you a tracksuit first and then we'll think about shoes." Harry led him in an uncompromising embrace over to the shelves of boring grey materials. They all looked disgusting and cheap and synthetic.

"You cannot possibly want me to wear any of this!"

"Do you want to do the marathon?" asked Harry. Draco nodded and nibbled on his thumb nail, gazing at the track suit bottoms jadedly. He was most certainly not sucking his thumb! Putting his hand in his pocket to resist falling into old habits, Draco indicated to a black pair of trousers.

The changing room was a cramped box with a mirror on one wall and a flimsy curtain pulled across for modesty, a small stool tucked in the corner, and a couple of hooks mounted behind him for coat hangers. Not that he had seen anything on coat hangers out there, the wretched place. Normally Draco had no qualms about undressing. However, in such harsh florescent lighting, and the way the curtain didn't quite stretch across the entire cubicle, he was disinclined to strip down. Especially to put on…

Draco held up the black trousers and sneered. There was no way they were going to look any better on. But Harry was waiting. Taking a deep breath to steal himself against what was clearly the shop from hell, he began to strip off his trousers. He put his slacks over the stool, which was less convenient a convenience and more of a tool for stubbing one's toes. Another deep breath, Draco stuck one leg into the trousers of bad fashion. Shifting his weight to put the other leg inside, and hopping about, his back jarring into the coat hooks, Draco pulled them up his limbs and tugged at the drawstrings.

_xxx_

"Are you ready yet?" he called. The curtain gave a rustle and then whipped aside. Harry's throat went dry as his tongue lopped about on the floor. _Merlin…_ Draco stood shirtless in only a pair of black tracksuit bottoms, running his hand nervously through his hair. Adorably, it seemed Draco had not quite figured out that his feet were supposed to go through the elasticised leg cuff and so instead his feet were tented in the bottom of the trousers legs. However adorably cute this caused the diminutive 5'10" Slytherin to appear, the effect was completely ruined by the trail of deep blonde pubes nestled froorm the waist band up to his belly button. It was times like these that Harry was overwhelmed by his boyfriend's physical attributes. There was no doubt about it. Draco certainly made up for his lack of height by looking like sex personified in Nike.

It seemed Ana, the sales assistant who found moments like this a perk of her very boring job, also agreed, if the puddle of drool around her ankles was any indication. _Grr, hands off._

"Harry! These are horrible!" cried Draco, putting his hands on his hips. Ana gargled in disagreement. Harry scowled at Ana. Ana didn't notice. Draco continued to complain, "I have no arse in these. They're too baggy, it makes it look like my bum have merged with my calves! Can't we go shop for a new suit? There's a new Ralph Lauren range that -"

"No more suits."

"Fine, whatever. See if I care. But I'm not wearing these. They don't fit. They're too short and the scrunchy foot-bit is itching my soles! And _why_ do they have this stupid tick on them?"

"It's a swoosh," informed Ana, smiling at Draco like it would gain her points to contradict him.

"Swoosh? You shouldn't make words up, it's clearly a tick. And who is Nike? Why is his name on my trousers? Is this like that guy on your boxers…Callum…umm…Calvin? Yeah, is this like that? Like Calvin Lime's boxers?"

Harry just smiled, ignoring the inane chatter coming out of his partner as he let his gaze run over the delightful image that was Draco Malfoy in sportswear.

_xxx_

The first time Draco had heard of this Calvin man, he had accused Harry of having an affair and picking up the wrong boxers. Who was this Calvin? How dare Calvin touch his Harry! Harry had taken him to a shop and showed him shelves and shelves of clothes that all had Calvin's name on them. Harry explained that it was a brand, and Draco vowed never to wear a brand name that could so easily be mixed up with a luscious lover. He never wanted Harry to feel that same panic that he had felt in what he referred to as the 'Calvin Lime Day'. Harry was his.

Draco was beginning to feel that he had gone back on his vow, wearing other people's clothes. Who was Nike? Was Reebok a popular name? And did the Umbro lineage go back as far as the Malfoy's? He had worn these silly brands and it felt like he was betraying Harry by sporting someone else's name in many different colours and styles. None of them made him want to prance around the streets of London. "Harry, these are all crap. I will not wear these stupid brands!"

"Well then, what are you going to wear?"

"I don't know, but anything that doesn't make me look like a duck!"

"Duck?" laughed Harry, "You look like something, but it's certainly not a duck."

Draco sniffed as Ana, who appeared to be brain dead because of all the drool, held out another pair of trousers. This time the trousers branded 'Puma' and while he could appreciate that the ancestors of Puma had picked a noble animal for their coat of arms, he refused to wear it. He'd rather wear the Malfoy Arms, or even the Potter's. Armani was a noble name whose heritage went back many years, even if their bloodline was tarnished with Muggle-lovers. But then, those who did marry into the Muggle world brought with them impeccable fashion.

Pushing past the inferius assistant to go into the main part of the store, Harry grabbed his arm as he tried to leave. "Where are you going?"

"To get my own bloody choice - all this deranged Muggle brings me is crap."

"Oh. Okay."

_xxx_

Draco had rushed back into the changing rooms with a heap of clothes in his arms and whipped the curtain closed behind him. There was a stray giggle from inside the cubicle that sounded a bit ominous to Harry, but he waited patiently. He was sat in an overstuffed chair, waiting for Draco to parade a fashion show in front of him. The sales assistant had come to perch on the arm of his chair, never wondering how a wooden stool became a squishy armchair that could rival Trelawney's, and they both drooled over the sport-retarded blonde.

"Okay, I'm ready!" Draco yanked open the curtain and pulled a pose. Harry had a heart attack. "Harry?"

"Gnah!"

Ana fell off the armchair in shock.

_xxx_

"Gnah?" repeated Draco. He frowned at his boyfriend, whose eyes were bulging and while he gripped his seat in a death grip, completely ignoring the mental sales girl flopping about on the floor like a flobberworm. Someone must have hexed them. Looking around the store and finding it blessedly clear, no dark Dark wizards Wizards anywhere, he turned his attention back to Harry. "What do you think of these shorts, Harry? At least they are a little more flattering than those silly trouser bottom things."

Harry didn't reply, he just whimpered and crossed his legs. Draco didn't know what to think of that response. He shrugged, it didn't matter what Harry thought. He liked these shorts. If only Armani made spandex. A quick spin in the mirror to admire the way his bum was hugged by tight, slightly shiny black shorts and emphasised his thighs nicely, Draco went back into the changing room and tried on some more clothes.

At some point between trying on velvet green and yellow trousers, then clingy black ones that Ana insisted were for cyclists, Harry chucked a couple of tops over the curtain rail. They rained down on Draco and he pulled one off his head, holding it out and looking at it curiously. "Is it suppose to be holey?" he called through the veil of the cubicle.

"Yes!" cried two voices, sounded a bit desperate.

"But won't my nipples show through?"

"How small do you think your nipples are? Just put the bloody top on!"

Draco decided to put the top on. Not because Harry had demanded him to. Of course not. Because he was curious as to why anyone would wear a shirt that had holes and no sleeves. He looked at himself in the mirror on the wall of the changing room, but he was too close to really get a good idea. He could tell he certainly didn't look bad, but the way his shoulders jutted from the collar didn't seem right. Pulling back the curtain, he shuffled in front of Harry. He raised a questioning eyebrow at the Gryffindor's silence.

"We'll take ten of them," informed Harry sharply to Ana. Draco raised his other eyebrow and looked down at the white tank top he was wearing.

The cubicle floor was covered in a copious amount of clothes, sorted into three piles, 'yes', 'things to try on' and 'never, even if I were blind'. The latter pile was considerably larger. He only had one pair of trousers left in the 'things to try on' pile. They were simple, no elastic shrivelled leg cuffs, no Hufflepuff yellow, no brand names, no silly stripes down the side. They were plain, grey and made of harsh material on the outside, but with a soft fluffy lining on the inside. Draco stepped into them and felt like he was wrapped up in bed. _Hmm, very comfy._

Stepping out from behind the curtain, he smiled at Harry. "I want these ones." Harry didn't disagree, just nodded mutely and continued to chew his bottom lip. Draco posed a few times in the mirror, marvelling at how these trousers were baggy, and yet seemed to accentuate everything he wanted them to like his slacks did. Granted the hems drooped a little over his feet, but his loafers would sort that out. They were just like wearing Harry's trousers but the correct length. Wonderful. Grey. Terrible, drab colour, but never mind. He was blonde.

"Right, shall we look at trainers now, Sir?"

_xxx_

End-eth Chapter Four

**

* * *

Author's note:** Oh JK...How could you end it like that?! There is supposed to be boy!love. Thank god I wrote AU, if it gave you a giggle, please comment! Thank you 


	5. A New Enemy

**Chapter Five**

_xxx_

"Where are you two off to this early?" asked Mrs Wiltson curiously, lurking in the stairwell as Harry locked the door to their flat. Draco, who usually didn't have time for the old bat, seemed to always have time to tell his story to anyone who would listen.

"I'm going to the gym with Harry to learn how to run for the marathon! And when I win and I get a gold medal everyone will love me and -"

"Right, lets go," said Harry, grabbing Draco's elbow and led him away from their nosy neighbour, "Good day Mrs Wiltson!"

"Goodbye Harry. Good bye, Mister Malfoy."

As soon as they were out of sight, Harry let go of Draco's elbow and gave an impish grin. "Race you to the car?" Draco was about to complain about the plebeian idea but when Harry lurched himself down a flight of stairs at an incredibly fast pace, Draco grinned. The old competitive spirit was starting to creep in. Run down stairs? _Not likely_. Draco perched himself on the banister railing and pushed off, squealing with delight as he flew down the shiny metal pole. When he came to a bend in the rail, he leaned inwards and followed it round to the next bit of straight. He laughed even harder when he slid past Harry at high speed and continued the descent into their lobby.

"THAT'S CHEATING!" yelled Harry somewhere behind him.

"You should know better! You set no rules!" replied Draco, whipping around another corner.

_xxx_

_Sneaky little bugger! Well…two can play at that..._ Harry pulled his wand out of his tracksuit and leaned over the banister, trying to lock aim on the blonde dot sliding at incredible speed down the banisters. "_Impedimenta_!"

Bull's eye! Harry tucked his wand back inside his pocket and walked leisurely down the stairs. He cracked a grin right in Draco's outraged face as he sidestepped around him and continued down to the car at a casual walk.

The car journey to the gym was in silence except for Draco's new Nike trainers banging on his dashboard.

_xxx_

Harry pulled up the handbrake at the same time that Draco said quietly, "I've changed my mind."

"About what? The marathon?"

"No," said Draco, leaning forwards and peering gingerly out of the window, "About training at your gym…" Harry leaned forward and followed the Slytherin's eye line. He immediately saw what was making Draco shrink back and cling to his Italian leather seats.

"Be brave. They don't bite." Harry climbed out of the car and walked over to Ron, Seamus, Dean and the twins who were perched on the disabled ramp railing, waiting for him.

"Is he here?" asked Ron darkly, obviously upset that Draco had encroached on another part of his life. Harry went to reply but suddenly Fred, George and Seamus were whistling and cheering loudly, screaming out obscenities.

"Work it baby! YEAH!"

"WOO! Strut your fine thing over this way!"

"Show us your pink bits!"

"Guys, that's not helping," said Harry, turning to see Draco strolling over with confidence. Harry could see through it though because of the way Draco had tilted his head back to stare at the others along the length of his nose. The twins launched themselves off the railing and accosted Draco, pulling at his clothes and trying to get a look down his hoodie.

"Come on, show us what's underneath!"

"POTTER!" cried Draco in distress, holding the hem of his top firmly at his waist and trying to edge away from the grabby hands of Fred and George. "Unhand me you filthy bloody trait -"

"Draco…" warned Harry.

"Who knew a Malfoy would scrub down so well," marvelled George, snapping the elastic of Draco's grey tracksuit trousers, causing a funny yelp to escape him.

"Ooh we are common, aren't we!" affected Fred in a posh accent, yanking on the bow of the enraged snake's drawstrings. Harry allowed them to poke and prod Draco a little longer before telling them to back off before they were hexed. They all went inside and as Draco made a snide comment about the colour scheme's masculinity, the others flashed their membership cards and went ahead while Harry attempted to gain the secretary's attention.

"Erm, excuse me?" called Harry, looking at the woman seated behind the counter on a swivel chair, nail file once again the prominent focus of her attention.

"Why, what have you done?" she asked sarcastically, not even looking up from her pinkie.

"Oh…erm…right. My boyfriend needs a membership form, and he has an appointment booked with a personal trainer for a marathon session." The secretary's head had snapped up from the word 'boyfriend' and she gave them both a licentious study. Especially Draco, who was peeking at her fax machine with the interest of a three-year-old.

"What is your boyfriend's name?" she asked, placing a blue form and Biro on the counter for them to fill out.

"Draco Malfoy."

She typed his name into the keyboard in front of her, her fingers gliding over the keyboard cack-handed because of her long excessively manicured nails. "Hmm, right. Hour and a half session, eleven o' clock. If you fill out that form and wait in the seating over there, your trainer will be right out. We'll have a card printed up by the end of the session."

Draco flashed a cream-your-knickers-because-I'm-adorably-hot smile and took the form, going to sit down on a plastic seat by the door. Harry frowned at the secretary, who had gone back to her nails, but was holding her hand higher so that Draco was in her vision, perceptively the same size as her thumb.

"Are you okay?" asked Harry. Draco looked up and sent him the same deadly smile and nodded.

"Yes, fine. You go ahead before those bloody twins come back looking for you."

"Okay," Harry leaned down. Draco tilted his head up and they shared a sweet, slow kiss that was interrupted by a funny squeak behind them. Both broke apart and looked at the secretary who was filing her nails, looking a little flushed about the cheeks. "Right…see you later."

_xxx_

Everyone was already on various pieces of equipment. Ron and Dean ever faithful to the treadmill, Seamus rowing flirtatiously in time with his trainer and the twins were on a large red mat with their feet against one another's, volleying a ball between themselves whilst doing sit ups.

"So Harry," began George, passing the ball to Fred and then moulding his back to the mat, "When did you play dress up with Draco?"

"Yes, and how come they fit - you're a giant compared to him," Fred passed the ball back and relaxed from the crunch.

"They're not my clothes," said Harry, shaking his head, "I took him shopping at JJB Sports."

"Oh, you poor thing," said both twins together, meeting in the middle to pass the ball again, "Did he complain terribly?"

"Yes." Harry nodded fervently, pleading them to empathise with his pain. The twins just laughed and Ron gave him the well-worn 'you should have picked someone less high maintenance as a boyfriend' gaze. Dean continued to listen to MTV. Seamus continued to gaze at Luke.

"Did you have a horrible time? Did he insult everything within range?"

"Erm…no and yes."

"No and yes?" repeated the twins, both sitting up and abandoning their exercise. "Do you mean that…you had a good time?" They gasped in synchronism to one another.

"Okay…don't tell Draco…but I had a john the whole time I was watching him model all those trousers - he was topless most of the time, and some of the stuff he was trying on was very, VERY tight. He bought Lycra, for Christ sakes! Little skimpy black short things. Not only is his arse godly in them, but you should have seen his p - "

"Gnah…!" Harry looked over to George, who was staring at something over Fred's shoulder. Harry knew even before looking what 'gnah' meant, but he followed the twin's line of vision anyway. Right to Draco. On a treadmill. Without a shirt. Covered in water. Flushed.

"Gnah."

_xxx_

The secretary was creeping him out. He'd given her back the invasive form and yet she still continued to gaze at him like he was supposed to give her something else. He didn't have any more forms. So what then? Maybe she was admiring his clothes? She certainly kept looking at his legs. She may be impressed with the long seam length or the drawstrings. He raised an eyebrow at her but she was distracted by the hunk of a man coming out of a staff-only room.

He was taller than Draco, though everyone was. Damn them. He had soft brown hair spiking off his head at odd angles, sort of like Harry's hair but this was clearly coiffed, not the bed hair that was Harry's. His height stopped him from looking bulky but he was undeniably the god of muscles. His skin was tanned and his tank top pressed against his hard, defined chest, and the navy tracksuit bottoms hid little of the significant bulge resting dormant in front of Draco's face. Draco tilted his head up and looked into blue eyes. _They should be green_, thought Draco, finding it a saddening imperfection.

"Draco Malfoy?" he asked. Draco nodded mutely. Brian smiled, "Great. I'm Brian. Shall we get started?"

Brian had big molars, and Draco wanted to suck the enamel off of them. "Sure. Where to?"

Brian had a nice arse. It jiggled about in his trousers as he led Draco to the Machines of Doom like two Quaffles in a burlap sack. The rest of Brian was pretty nice too…_more than nice_…Draco ran his eyes up slim hips, and over broad shoulders, and then snapped his gaze straight back down to Brian's arse. Draco wanted to do naughty things to Brian's bum. Very naughty things that involved him, a tub of Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Lubricant, a banana, a bar of Cadbury's and Harry watching from the corner with a camera.

"Right, Draco, if you lie down on your back on the mat and just relax. I'm going to stretch you before we hit the treadmill. Is that okay?" asked Brian, smiling warmly.

"Oh, yes. Definitely," Draco tried not to grin, biting his lip a little as he did as instructed, thinking that he should have come to the gym years ago. No wonder Harry liked it so much.

Five minutes later, Draco found himself looking at the ceiling, extremely disappointed as his knees touched his nipples again and his hips clicked loudly as Brian manipulated the joints.

_xxx_

"This is the button that sets the speed. You press this one…like this…to go faster. And this one is to slow it down. And if you find you just want to stop, press this middle one. Easy?" Brian had nice hands. Long slim fingers with a big span as he pointed to various glowing parts of the machine Draco was standing on. And the nails were manicured into neat squares.

"Yes."

"Great. We are going to start you on a light jog for ten minutes, and then put you into a full run for the next ten minutes. You're going to get awfully warm," Brian indicated his own tank top as the choice of clothing, "you should take it off."

"I'm not wearing anything underneath."

"That's okay."

"Go topless?" asked Draco, surprised. He looked around the room and noticed many guys were working out without their shirts and nobody was throwing stones at them. "Okay, I suppose."

Draco pulled the hoodie off his head. His hair had gone wonderfully static and was weeping for a hairbrush. Once his head was free, he saw Brian standing with his hand out expectantly. Draco handed him his jumper and prepared himself for the humiliation that was sweating like a common Mudblood. Brian put his jumper in a neat pile on the floor next to the mirrors and smiled at him.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

"Okay…just go with the tread," instructed Brian gently, pressing some triangle shapes on the touch screen, and Draco jolted with surprise as the machine whirred into life. The fake road beneath his feet began to go backwards, and Draco with it. He panicked. What was he supposed to do? Draco grabbed the handlebars and hoisted himself up so his feet were suspended from the moving track of doom. Brian's laugh drew his attention away from what was happening beneath his ankles.

"Draco!" He laughed with glee, "You've got to run. It moves like the ground underneath you. Just put your feet down and run until you come to here." He patted the control panel at the front.

"I'm confused," said Draco quietly, his brow drawn together as he looked back down at the mobile mat.

"Trust me, Draco. Don't look at your feet, look at me, and just keep running towards me," he coaxed, standing in front of the control panel. His face was expectant and Draco couldn't let him down. Slowly lowering his feet to the mat, he already felt them being pulled away but he stepped quickly and found them beneath his torso again. Slowly releasing his grip on the handlebars, he jogged quickly up to the front of the machine, his eyes fixed firmly on Brian. Brian, hot, wonderful Brian. Brilliant Brian who understood the Machine of Doom. Brian who kept bopping up and down in his vision because Draco was finally running! _Whoop! I knew I could do it! Take that, Potter._

"That's good, Draco! Well done. Keep it up."

Nine minutes later Draco was incredibly happy that he had taken his sweater off, because the woolly lining would have been a nightmare. He could feel little beads of sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, and he refused to look in the mirror lining the wall to his left because he knew he would be horrified to see the state he was jogging himself into.

"That's fantastic. Right, we are switching to a higher speed. Ready to run, Draco?"

_No! _"Yes."

Brian leaned forward and began to press another triangle. Draco felt the mock road speed up, and was horrified to see Brian keep pressing the button. The faster and faster it got, the higher Draco had to pick his legs up. He almost screamed 'stop' but Brian pulled back just as he had to shift his body weight and take longer strides. _Oh. So this is running…_

Draco could already tell that this was going to exhaust him. His bones felt weary just from jogging and he could feel himself becoming flushed in the face and along his chest. His legs didn't like moving this way, his knees felt stiff and useless. A burning feeling was creeping up his thighs and he was glad that Brian had fiddled with his hips because he knew they would be creaking otherwise.

"How are you feeling?" asked Brian, uncapping a bottle of drink and taking a sip. Draco almost gargled at the way Brian's lips were wrapped around the nozzle. He was so thirsty.

"Hot."

"Really?" asked Brian, raising an eyebrow. He smiled cheekily, creating a little dimple to appear on the left side of his mouth. He put his thumb over the top of the bottle and flicked it towards Draco. Little bits of water escaped Brian's thumb and sprayed over Draco, droplets trickling down his chest, sluicing a path down his chest and flat stomach to rest in the pool of his bellybutton. Draco was very tempted to pull his wand out and order Brian to tongue his bellybutton dry, but that was impossible. Not only because tonguing someone dry was an oxymoron, but because he had left his wand at home. _Drat_.

_xxx_

While the others drowned themselves over his boyfriend, Harry was glaring darkly at his new adversary. He watched as Brian had the audacity to sprinkle HIS boyfriend with water. Next thing would be cum!

Only Ron, who was not affected by the view of what he considered to be a slimy Slytherin git just running, cocked an eyebrow questioningly at Harry's murderous gaze. Harry shrugged him off, but for the next hour, his eyes were trained on Brian.

Brian who was now Enemy Number One.

_xxx_

**End-eth Chapter Five**

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**Author's Note:** Chapter four contained a lot of technical mistakes and these have been corrected but if you see any, please don't hesitate to point them out! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, update on Monday. Please review on your way out! Thanks! 


	6. Competition

**Chapter Six**

Harry yawned and stretched his body across the sheets, his left hand sliding its way to the other side of the bed in search of hot skin and soft silky hair. Instead he found a pillow. Harry shrugged, deciding that the pillow would have to do. He dragged it over and cradled it to his chest, wrapping himself around it in the foetal position and falling back to sleep, smelling the scent left on the case.

Harry drifted in and out of consciousness for a good half hour, envisioning himself cuddled up to another body. He trailed his fingers over soft skin, scraping his nails over the Adam's apple beneath his fingertips, down broad chest and flat stomach. Across sharp hip bones and finally to cup…Harry frowned. Well that wasn't a penis.

Blinking into the morning sun, he looked down at the corner of the pillow he was cupping seductively. He chuckled a little and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. His scalp felt sore from disrupting the odd angles of the follicles. He swivelled his hips and put his feet on the floor, standing up and peering out of the French windows. The weather looked welcomingly sunny and hot, and the sort of day that didn't belong to the month.

Harry exhaled a massive yawn as he walked down the corridor lined with their holiday pictures to go to the kitchen. Rio, Paris, New York, Amsterdam, the Great Wall of China. All the photographic images of themselves smiled and kissed, and some waved at him. He padded into the living room, intent on heading straight through into the kitchen, but he was met by a very unwelcome sight. Blaise Zabini.

Harry and Draco spent nearly all their social life in the company of Gryffindors, and when they weren't with them or at work, then they spent time with each other. Draco's whole life was surrounded by people he abhorred in youth, so Harry never intervened when Draco's one remaining friend of his childhood came to visit. Out of love for Draco, he didn't intervene. However, that did not mean that he didn't hate Blaise with the same passion he reserved for people like Voldemort, the Dursleys…and Brian.

As Harry entered the living room, wishing that he had put on something more substantial that just the smiley-faced boxers he had slept in, Blaise and Draco both smiled at him. The smiles were two very different smiles. Draco's was a greeting it's-past-eleven-you-lazy-bugger smile. Blaise's said a lot more. If it could speak to the room, it would have said, "Oh, so he's still with you then. Shame. He'll come back to me one day. Look, our knees are touching and he isn't complaining.' Blaise's smile was a smirk, and he affected a yawn, falling back into the sofa cushions to complete the yawn-and-stretch technique that had been used so many times in cinemas. Draco seemed unaware that his friend was creeping closer to him, one arm encircling his neck. Harry was very aware though. He wanted to snap Blaise's fingers off and stuff them up his arse, the silly little brown noser.

"I'm making breakfast. Do either of you two want anything?" asked Harry, pulling his face into a grimace that he hoped look friendly.

"Can I have a bacon sarnie, please?" smiled Draco, finally looking over at him and noticing his boxers. He gave a smirk and winked at him. Harry almost pounced.

"Yes. I will have the same," stated Blaise, looking like a cat with the canary digesting in its stomach juices. Gryffindor labour was apparently on par with the theatre.

Harry nodded, mumbling about rat poison as he shuffled off into the kitchen. The two Slytherins began talking again and Harry strained to listen.

"…Crabbe sent me a letter the other week. He's in Sydney. Says that he went looking for this special type of acid to take the Mark off - it has burnt off half his arm, but the Mark is still there."

"I don't know why he doesn't just try some foundation cream," sighed Draco. He always sounded so miserable when Blaise came with news about the others. All the more reason for him not to come in Harry's opinion. Harry pulled out the toaster from the cupboard and set it down on the side next to the cooker, plugging it into the mains.

"You know his mother won't let him come back with it."

"Yeah, well his mother is owl droppings. She should accept him any way he is. _She's_ the one who made him take it, anyway. Not that it saved Senior."

"Well we can't do anything about it," Blaise's voice sounded like a reprimand, and Harry wanted to slap him. Instead he put a frying pan on the stove. "He wants to be with his mum. You know I offered him a place to stay. But after Goyle…"

"Yeah…I know. Thank you for that. It's not fair on Harry to have offered him a place here…"

"I didn't offer him a place just because you asked. He is my friend too."

"I know. Sorry…Did you visit Goyle?"

"Yeah. I've put new flowers down." There was a silence in the living room that was tinged with sadness for the loss of their friend and Harry tried to push the bread into the toaster quietly but the spring gave a metallic clank as it was captured in a grip.

"How's Pansy?"

"Oh you know. She's fine," Blaise laughed, "She made Nott dye his hair white-blonde. He looks like a right pillock now."

"Hey. My hair is a wonderful shade - it's the envy of everyone. Don't diss a blonde."

"Sorry." Harry could hear how unapologetic Zabini was. If it were Harry degrading Draco's hair then he would have been kicked out and made to sleep on the sofa for a week.

"So…she's still angry with me?" asked Draco. He sounded so helpless that Harry wanted to march in there, admit he was eavesdropping, and drag off to their bedroom for a bit of TLC, leaving Blaise to show his bloody self out. However, Harry had learnt, and a rather painful lesson it had been, that Draco would not appreciate any rudeness towards Blaise. Would taking Draco off for comfort-sex count as rudeness?

"Yes. She's livid. It makes you wonder how Nott puts up with her." When Pansy Parkinson had found out about Draco's sexuality, and subsequently his alliance with Harry, she was convinced that he was doing it as some sort of petty joke. Later she decided that Harry had brainwashed her beloved bachelor from her scanky pink-painted claws. Harry threw bacon into the frying pan, enjoying it sizzle and imaging each strip of pork was Pansy's face.

"Hey! Guess what!" cried Draco, there was a funny whoofting sound that Harry summarised was Draco bouncing in his seat with excitement. "I'm going to be doing the butter marathon."

"Huh?"

"It's erm…Harry!"

"Yeah?" He popped his head round the corner of the kitchen and saw Blaise had somehow managed to get even closer to Draco. Next thing, he'd be in his bloody lap. Draco was waving his arms and gesturing wildly, one elbow catching Blaise under the jaw satisfactorily.

"What's the name of the sponsor - oh, sorry Blaise - what's the name of the butter people who are sponsoring the marathon?"

"Flora," said Harry, smirking at Blaise, who was massaging life back into his chin.

"Oh yeah. Thanks," Draco turned back to Blaise, "Yes, Flora is doing a marathon in London, and its twenty six miles long and I am going to run in it."

Harry went back into the kitchen to attend to the bacon and the toast, which had popped sometime during his brief vacation. "Why would you possibly want to run anywhere? Why not just Apparate?"

"Because that's not the idea. You're supposed to run."

"But why? Apparation is easier."

"Yes, but -"

"It sounds like a silly Muggle thing to do. Did Potter put you up to this? He runs, doesn't he?"

"No, Harry did not put me up to this!" Draco sounded affronted, whether on Harry's behalf or for himself, Harry couldn't tell. "I chose to do it. And I will do it. And I will win. And I WILL be loved by all."

"Okay, okay. No need to get humpy." Harry hoped that Draco did get humpy and cut off Blaise's wondering hands in a tantrum. Harry married the bacon to the toast and turned the gas off.

"I'm _not_ humpy."

Harry had just cut two of the sandwiches diagonally and one length ways, then carried the plates into the living room just as Draco was regaling his tales of the gym.

"…and they have this machine that is called a treadmill and it's like running on a road but while being still. It sort of…" Draco made a gesture so vague that it didn't add to his explanation in any way, "…moves underneath you, and you're supposed to run to keep from falling off the edge. And Brian says that by the end of the month I should be able to run at least ten miles on it, and it has this little button that makes it feel like you are going up a hill and -"

"Who is Brian?" asked Blaise sweetly; snatching up the sandwich which Harry had intended for himself because of the way it was cut. He was about to demand Blaise had a diagonally sliced sandwich instead, but the stupid git and already bitten into one of his rectangles. Draco picked up a plate and settled it on his lap, but didn't touch the food because his hands were too busy tracing shapes into the air as some sort of bizarre visual aid.

"Oh, Brian is my personal trainer. He helps me sort out the machines and he sprays this misty water stuff over me when I get hot. And he talks to me about what to do, and he stretches me before we start and -" Blaise had trained his eyes on Harry during Draco's rant and smirked widely at Harry's discomfort as he bit into his triangulated piece of bread.

"Is he hot?" asked Blaise.

Draco nodded earnestly, paying no attention to the thudding in Harry's ears. "Oh yes! God, you should see him Blaise! He's the kind of guy you want to make a sex sundae on and lick it all off."

"Maybe you should invite him over for coffee," suggested Blaise. That was when Harry suspected Blaise was actually an abbreviated name for 'Beelzebub'.

"He's caffeine intolerant," stated Draco, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite. He moaned a little, which had both brunettes almost coming in their shorts. "Hmm, this sandwich is sex. Thank you, Harry." Harry nodded. As Draco was chewing on his sandwich and too polite to speak with his mouth full, and Harry and Blaise had nothing to say to each other that didn't end in mutilation, the room was silent for a few moments. Once Draco finished eating one half of his sandwich, Blaise spoke again. Oh how Harry wanted to maim him.

"So, tell me more about Brian."

_xxx_

Draco yawned. This board meeting was terribly boring. And all the people in it were stupid. He didn't know why he was expected to attend this meeting but all that he could think of was how his suit would be crinkled when he next had to stand up. _Damn these leather chairs._

"Look, the restraining order will not allow Kenneth to work with Larissa, and Larissa refuses to work with anyone but Marvin, which is fine because they have been partners for three years. But there needs to be two people on each job and everyone else is indisposed."

Draco was beginning to wish he was indisposed. A few people around the room tried to come up with ideas as to how to solve the problem.

"Cancel the restraining order!"

"What, and let Larissa be molested again? Don't be stupid."

"Why can't Marvin work with Kenneth?"

"Because Kenneth tried to slice his throat, remember?"

"Well then, why not -"

"Why not you all shut up!" snapped Draco. He stood up, knowing that he was flashing the two women on either side of him an eyeful of crinkled suit. "Why can you not let Kenneth do the bloody reconnaissance mission by himself?"

"But he might be biased, that is why two people need to be -"

"Mister Flabgratty!" Draco knew he shouldn't snap, it tended to scare people and make them compare him to his father, but he was tired and wanted to go home for huggles with Harry, "Let Kenneth do the reconnaissance mission by himself, then feed him Veritaserum when he needs to give his report. He can't be biased if he's bloody telling the truth, can he?"

"But the use of Veritaserum on an -"

Draco was getting impatient with incompetent people. He had contemplated many times whether or not to take over the Ministry, but even as an outside consultant and all around influential figure people arse-kissed for connections, it was too much trouble.

"I don't care how unethical it is. I am funding the mission, so I'm the one in charge. Kenneth can go alone; he will be drugged when he has to report back. No, I will not pay for Larissa and Marvin's 'classified mission' - they can pay for their bloody honeymoon themselves."

Slamming the door behind him was very gratifying. The door had banged loudly and made the secretary outside jump behind her desk as he stormed out of the meeting the way he had been taught when he was little.

_Exiting a room can be as equally efficient as signing a death warrant. But Draco, listen boy. You have to do it with style._

Would it be stylish to do it in Nike trainers?

_xxx_

Harry crawled across the bed and settled against the headboard, wrapping one arm around Draco's shoulders. He leaned closer and pressed a trail of soft, open mouth kisses along the smooth neck, nipping at the earlobe and licking roughly at the patch of skin behind Draco's ear.

"Harry, stop it! Not while I'm eating."

Harry huffed and sat back. Draco leaned in a little to follow Harry's body heat and continued munching on the family-sized bargain bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, ranting in between each bite of fat-saturated poultry.

"Stupid incompetent fools thought they could squeeze a galleon out of me. How stupid do they think I am? A honeymoon! Why should I ever -"

"You know, you ought to stop eating so much fried food. You'll collapse before you get off the starting line," said Harry, dipping his hand into the cardboard bucket for a wing.

Draco slapped his hand, eyes turned to slits as he moved his cold gaze to Harry, "Are you calling me fat?"

_xxx_

**End-eth Chapter Six**

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**Author's Note: **First Brian and now Blaise, beware anyone whose name begins with B! Harry Potter is beginning to feel the competition, he he. Please Review, update on Thursday, yadda, yadda, you know the drill XD Hope you enjoyed it! 


	7. Fight!

**Chapter Seven**

Harry saw Hermione shift and hold her menu up higher. The twins and Ron were mouthing words without sound and pointedly turning their backs to the commotion that was Draco having a 'moment'. Ginny was just watching with amusement and Seamus and Dean's chairs were unaffected by the whole thing. Though Harry suspected the former occupants of the chairs could hear the row from over by the bar, and were lingering with their drink orders to avoid the uncomfortable social situation that was a couple arguing in public. A gay couple. Oh yes, Harry was feeling like an amusement attraction. _Sickle a seat?_

Harry marvelled at how Draco seemed so unaffected by the attention he was creating around him. "I bet you call me flabby in your head, don't you? Well I'll tell you this! I am going to eat the special fried chow mien and you can fucking sleep on the sofa tonight - you wouldn't want to share a bed with flabby-Draco now, WOULD YOU!"

Draco stood up, stormed off to the toilets, and knocked over Qing in the process, who had come to have a closer look at the arguing couple. Harry dropped his head in his folded arms on the table. He wished Draco was disabled. Then he wouldn't need to diet for the marathon because he would be too crippled to even to turn the TV onto the sports channels that were now constantly playing in the flat. Suddenly a hand was stroking his hair and Harry looked up, hoping it was Draco.

Hermione smiled at him kindly, "Are you okay?"

"I want things to go back to normal." Harry felt like crying. Dinner that night was uncomfortable and most of his friends found excuses to leave early. Harry and Draco walked home in silence, striding metres apart, and that night Harry slept on the sofa.

_xxx_

Draco hadn't slept well that night either. The room was too dark, the house was too silent, and the bed was too big. He estimated he had managed to get two or three hours sleep in the wee hours of the dawn, but eventually the alarm clock buzzed and Draco was horrified to find himself awake before it went off. It must be some sort of bad luck to be already conscious when that happens.

Climbing out of bed, he went to the door and attempted to open it very quietly, chiefly out of force of habit. When the door gave its habitual creak, he whipped round to see if Harry had woken up. He almost cried when he saw the bed empty, covers ruffled only on his side. He slumped out into the corridor and went a little way down the hall, turning into the bathroom.

He stripped, showered, towel-dried, and stood naked in the mirror, sobbing. He wanted his Harry! Malfoy pride was a terrible thing however. Sniffling at his image, he turned the tap on and let the sink fill up with warm water. Sleep deprivation made him look ragged and sickly pale, and he felt terribly unsexy. If only Harry had been with him last night then he would have looked beautiful this morning. Instead he looked like those people from the pamphlets Granger had given him when he first started dating; he looked like he had AIDs. _Nice. _

Dipping his hands into the water and bring his face to meet the cup of his hands, Draco scrubbed at the tear tracks. Tears were salty, and mixed with the water in his hands, floating up his nose for a moment before straining down his face when he straightened up. Draco looked at himself in the mirror, studying the image.

_I look poor! Gosh, my Father would be - who cares what Father would be! Still…Mother would think that I would not be fit for any - Oh Merlin's sac, is that cellulite?! _

Draco almost bashed his head against the porcelain of the sink, and he moved in for closer inspection of his thigh. Smooth skin…firm thigh…no fat…_oh thank god!_ Standing upright, Draco spun around, looking over his shoulder and twisting this way and that to conduct a full body inspection for even the slightest fold or wobble.

Just as an extra precaution, Draco pulled out the scales from under the bath.

_xxx_

Harry was awake when the door creaked down the hall, and he was extremely saddened to hear the shower start running instead of Draco coming into the living room to talk things over. Harry lay there, staring at the ceiling while the sound of the shower filled the flat.

Deciding that moping wasn't going to solve anything, he pushed the piles of cushions that had been arranged into a mould of a person onto the floor and stood up, stretching his arms high. Turning to look at the sofa, he saw the cause of his back ache all last night. The remote control looked like it hadn't enjoyed Harry's company through the night either because it had spewed it's batteries out in protest.

Harry walked into the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast. It was when he had cracked two eggs into the frying pan, he suddenly wondered if this fight meant that he was supposed to be cooking for only one. After this moment of confusion, Harry threw all the breakfast into the bin and put everything away before going back to the sofa and his cushion-Draco. He didn't have an appetite now.

_xxx_

Draco reckoned he must have done a hundred miles by now. His legs were sore, his hips and knees hurt, andhis feet felt like there were puffskiens cuddling each toe, weighing him down. All in all, he was shattered and he wanted to go home and have his huggles. Except there weren't any huggles. Here or at home. He was beginning to wish chocolate didn't taste so good.

"Right. That's ten miles. Very good Draco! See. I told you by the end of this month you'd be able to do it. Lie down on the mat and we'll just check you over, and then we'll be done."

Draco stood still and allowed the tread to slide him off the end of the machine. The floor felt too hard and he flopped down on a nearby mat, glaring at the ceiling as Brian's hands pushed the muscle uncomfortably about his bones. After a few moments of silence, Brian spoke up.

"Draco, are you okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

Brian shrugged and smiled down at him. The dimple didn't appear all that impressive today. "Usually you lie there, talking about how you are one step closer to being loved by all. You've been really quiet today. Something wrong?"

Draco bit his lip. Brian was just a person trainer, he didn't really care about Draco's personal life. So long as Brian had his galleon a day for his service, Draco could be a puddle of goo. So long as goo could run. Which Draco didn't think it could, and today he felt very much like goo. Like unworthy, unsexy, stupid, stubborn goo. "I had a fight with my boyfriend yesterday," said Draco quietly.

Brain didn't bat an eyelash at Draco's sexuality, "What about?"

"Food."

"Food? That doesn't seem like a very serious thing to have an argument about. Are you sure that you're just seeing it as bigger than it is?" suggested Brian, rotating Draco's left foot. _Ouch_. Pain lanced through his ankle and he threw his head to the side, pressing his cheek into the cool plastic of the mat. Unfortunately, this position meant he was looking right across the way of the gym to Harry sitting on a machine, doing leg pumps. Their eyes met and Draco had to look away from the glare that was being cast in their direction.

"Hmm, food. He says I should stop eating fried food and so much chocolate."

Brian hummed and said slowly, "Well Draco…he's right."

Draco snapped his eyes up to look at Brian. What a traitor. "What?"

"Well," Brian shrugged, "You should really be eating a lot of fruit and vegetables to get that extra bit of vitamin C. You could take tablets, but as they say, au natural is better for you. And having a lot of potatoes and stuff…you know, carbohydrates are good because that keeps up your muscle glycogen. And you should really be cutting down on fatty stuff because otherwise you're going to end up using that instead of your body fat, and then you'll become stocky, and that's not exactly a look most people go for. Plus, you have to eat healthy for sports. It's just the way it is. You've probably been too hard on your boyfriend. He's just looking out for you."

Draco had no idea what muscle glipoman was, but whatever it was sounded important because Draco so desperately did not want to become stocky. He liked his build. Very much so. And Harry hadn't said he was fat…he'd just said that maybe he should eat some celery for the marathon…

"So…I shouldn't eat meat?"

"Gosh, eat all the meat you like. Protein is very good for you. Do you want me to get you a leaflet?"

_xxx_

Harry wasn't quite sure what had changed so much, but whatever it was had been drastic. One moment Draco wouldn't look at or acknowledge him, and the next he was being snogged senseless in the car park of the gym.

"I am so sorry! I will eat celery if you want, but we need plenty of mayonnaise to disguise the plant taste. We need potatoes as well. And maybe we could go to Jenroy's for dinner, they have a meat fondue there. Is that healthy?"

"Erm…" Harry didn't know the answers, and didn't know the question, he was too busy holding the slim body in his grasp. Nestling his face into Draco's neck, he breathed in the smell that made him giddy every time. "I am so sorry, I didn't ever mean to imply anything about your weight!" said Harry sincerely, he nodded, "and Draco, know, that I will love you even if you were fatter than my cousin."

On the way home, as Harry navigated the car at high speed through the streets in his haste to get home and have gloriously violent make-up sex, he noticed that Draco was reading a pamphlet.

"What's that?" he asked, indicating right.

"Dieting leaflet. Brian gave it to me."

"…That's what made you change your mind?"

"Yep. If anyone knows what they are talking about, it's got to be Brian."

Harry was going to murder Brian.

_xxx_

"There, there…don't cry." Harry rocked Draco in his arms, hushing soothing tones down the back of his neck as they cuddled on the sofa. Draco's eyes were big and watery as he peered over the back of the couch to towards the kitchen.

"Oh Seamus, look! Chocolate chip ice cream!"

Draco howled and threw his head into Harry's shoulder, clutching him tighter. Harry just held him tighter as they allowed his friends to ransack their kitchen for all the unhealthy foods.

Hermione didn't quite understand what she was suppose to be doing and took with her most of the broccoli. When Seamus, Dean and Ron left with boxes of hidden sweets and goodies of all sorts, Draco stood in the centre of the desolate kitchen, cupboard doors slung open to reveal empty shelves...and wept like a little girl.

_xxx_

**End-eth chapter seven**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aww, poor Draco. If you feel sorry for him, leave a review! Next chapter up Monday 


	8. Hero

**Chapter Eight**

Every Saturday, Harry would wake up early, get dressed and go for a jog before the sun rose. So Harry was very surprised when he had come back from the toilet, ready to get dressed and go for that jog, only to find Draco sitting on the end of the bed in his jogging trousers and tank top.

"Erm…what are you doing up?"

"Going jogging with you, stupid."

"…why?"

"Brian said I had to 'up my game'. He wants me to go running every day," informed Draco, who had scooped down and picked Harry's Addidas trousers off the floor, presenting them to him. Studiously ignoring the name that he was learning to passionately hate, Harry took his trousers from Draco, dropping a kiss on his lips.

The park was cold, and their breath steamed up in front of their faces as they jogged around the perimeter. Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that not only was Draco keeping up with him, he was doing it with ease. Obviously, despite having a jackass for a trainer, Brian could almost be considered a good investment. Not that Harry wouldn't say yes to another trainer if there was one qualified. Anything to get rid of Brian. Brian who was tall, dark, handsome and spent most of his bloody time with Draco.

Shaking his head of Brian, Harry turned his attention to Draco. "…DRIP, DRIP drop, Little April SHOWERS, beating a tune as you fall on the ground, DRIP, DRIP DROP, LITTLE - "

Harry regretted ever introducing Draco to Disney. In the beginning, Draco's love for all things animated was unbelievably cute. However, Slytherins were not designed to be cute. Draco perverted Disney by singing Bambi's April Showers as they jogged, spooking all the birds in the trees above them. A full lap around the park and not a single bird was sleeping comfortably in its nest any longer. Harry suspected Draco knew that messing with the birds' sleeping patterns would mean mass clean up for all the cars in the neighbourhood. However, his hideous singing did not only wake up the birds. It did something much worse. It alerted the paparazzi.

_xxx_

"Harry! I'm really sorry!"

"Sorry?" Harry's voice had made a funny squeak that meant he was finally mad with him. Unlike at Hogwarts, it took a lot to get Harry angry now. Revealing their location to the paparazzi with singing at the crack of dawn apparently qualified as 'a lot'.

"Yes, I'm sorry alright! How was I supposed to know that the bloody press enjoyed the sound of music?!" Draco felt like a traitor. He should just snap his wand now for outing poor Harry…again.

This flat was their fourth flat in two years, and each time it was because of Draco that they had to move. Last time he had frisked up a neighbour who screamed harassment and had given his description to the police, and by extension, the paparazzi. The time before that he had set alight the house trying to cook a romantic breakfast, and the firemen brought the press with them. The time before that he had been learning to drive and had…well, the wreckage was substantial and the insurance man was a Squib who found the Daily Prophet's prize money too tempting. And henceforth all of this was the reason why he had bought Harry a nice new car to be chauffeured around in, no longer cooked for fear of burning his way into the morning papers and he declared himself infinitively gay the first time they moved.

Adding 'disturbance of the peace' to his ongoing list of reasons why they had to vacate again seemed less incriminating to Draco than it did to Harry who was only focusing on the 'moving again' part.

"We're going to be all over the fucking papers! They're going to know you are trying for the marathon and they'll interrupt the Muggles and - and why did you scream that out when they jumped us, anyways?"

"Err…"

"Never mind. Just…don't talk to any of them. I'm going to lie down." Harry swept past him and went into the bedroom. Draco sighed. He had really liked this house, too. He understood Harry's grievance.

"Goodbye old floor," sniffed Draco, bending down and stroking the floor, "goodbye old wall…goodbye lovely light switch…goodbye d -" the knock at the door sounded purposeful and not just someone's elbow. Creeping up and peeking through the peep hole, Draco was strangely assured by the bushy hair filling up his concaved view. "GET READY!" yelled Draco through the door. He grabbed the handle, pulling out his wand, and stood in a fighting stance.

He whipped the door open, blinded by the flashes of lights and deafened by the questions being hurtled his way. "Mister Malfoy, are you planning on watching Harry play next week?"

"Mister Malfoy, are you going to be doing that centrefold for Witch Weekly?!"

"Mister Malfoy, are you and Harry still in love?"

"Mister Malfoy, are those trousers comfortable?"

"Mister Malfoy, what size is your -"

Draco grabbed Hermione's wrist and yanked her over the threshold, tucking her behind his frame for protection. "Ladies and Gentlemen. Yes, yes, yes, no, and eight. Thank you."

"Really? Eight?" Hermione asked once he had slammed the door shut. Draco put his hands over his crotch.

"Hey, eyes off. She may have been talking about my shoe size. She works for the Quibbler," he said. She didn't look convinced. "Get your mind out of the gutter, woman! Honestly."

Her eyes lingered a moment longer before she got down to business. "Where's Harry?"

_xxx_

The door opened and Harry was extremely relieved to see Hermione step through. He could see through the jar that Draco was standing anxiously in the hallway, but made no move to follow Hermione inside as she closed the door behind her. "Hey."

"Hi."

"Thinking of moving to Jamaica?" she joked, settling on the bed beside him. Her posture was stiff like she was aware this was the bed of a gay couple. Or rather she was aware that her friend had sex on the bed. Either way, she sat upright against the headboard; her feet hung off the side so her toes stayed on the floor.

"Yeah mun," accented Harry badly. She laughed to humour him.

"So…going to move again?"

"Yes. Have to. We can't live our lives if they know where we live. Last time one of them snuck into the house and cut off a bit of my hair! Hermione, they bloody sold polyjuice-Potter by the batches for months!" He gave a shudder. "Draco said that people would buy it to have sex with Potter look-alikes…then the night after some of _his_ hair got taken. Remember."

"I remember him crying."

"Hmm…yes…" They both smirked, but Harry's face descended into gloom again, "I really like it here. We've settled nicely. And we're near everyone."

"I know. I know…Oh!" Hermione smiled the smile of someone who had an idea. "I know what will make them go away!"

_xxx_

"Mister Malfoy! Mister Malfoy! What are do you prefer, apples or oranges."

"Oranges. But that's not what I'm -"

"Mister Malfoy, do you -"

"Malfoy, erm, I mean, Mister -"

"Hey, I was asking him first!"

"So?! Mister Malfoy, when you next go on hol -" The stupefied reporter keeling over surprised nobody. The camera began to click and whirl, the questions continued and Draco smiled through all of it.

"Actually, I am here to inform you all of a new part of mine and Harry's life!" began Draco.

"You've taken a pregnancy potion?"

"You've gotten engaged!"

"You're a Veela and he's your mate!"

"Erm…no. Good guesses though. No. I was going to inform you that I am going to be running in the London marathon. And I expect everyone to come and support me and when I win and am loved by all…"

Twenty minutes later Draco came back in, looking forlorn and puzzled. "Harry…they went away…none of them wanted to know about me being the champion of the Muggles…" Harry swept Draco up in a sympathetic hug, but grinned over the top of the blonde head, mouthing 'You're a genius' to Hermione. She merely nodded modestly in due acceptance, grinning back.

_xxx_

The field was muddy, and it made running that much harder because the ground sucked his feet down and made his legs burn with the effort of keeping pace, and if Oliver screamed for them to 'go faster', Harry was going to beat the damn coach around the head with his broomstick.

"GO FASTER!"

"FUCK OFF!" snapped back Harry, scowling up at Oliver flying above them. The six other members of the Quidditch team grumbled in agreement. They had been trotting around the field for at least forty minutes, mud churning in the tracks and their brooms high over their heads as if they were wading through deep water. The exercise was torture, and Harry was beginning to get ratty. The mere presence of other people was grating on his nerves. How dare these people breathe the same air as him! How dare they look as worn out as he felt! How dare none of them complain about the regime they were being subjected to! How dare the Department of Magical Games and Sports chose the most manic obsessive coach in the league to put as the coach of the team?!

"Come on Harry, where's your spirit?" coaxed Oliver, cleverly flying just out of reach. If only wands were permitted on the field.

"In the fucking mud. When do we get our break?"

"In another hour."

"FUCK YOU!" Oliver only made a motion with his hand that commanded him to keep running. Harry was starting to despise running. It was everywhere in his life.

A Quidditch uniform was supposed to be airtight. His leather boots buckled right up to the knee and his trousers tucked inside them for that extra warmth and padding. So how a tonne of slim and mud got inside his boot when he took them off was anyone's guess. Oliver was chattering over a blackboard about techniques and strategy, and Harry was too busy scooping out mud from his gear to care. He assumed no one else was listening to Oliver, but when everyone around him began an uproar of complaint, he tuned into what was being said.

"But Bulgaria has been there twice!"

"And Brazil spent a month there! They'll play like Slytherins!"

"What's going on?" asked Harry to Moran, one of the beaters. Moran kept his eyes trained on Oliver, who was trying to calm down the rest of the team, and whispered out of the corner of his mouth discretely.

"You know that foreign strategy training camp every team was signed up for…well we've just had the plug pulled. Ministry thinks it's a waste of money."

"Thanks. Coach, isn't there anyway we could make them reconsider?" he asked, unbuckling his other belt. Everyone quietened down for Oliver's reply.

"I've tried, Harry. They said that we are on par with targets and so they think it's a waste of resources that can go into merchandising -"

"Merchandising! Those greedy -"

"I have written to them several times and I'm going to go up there Wednesday to try and speak to the head of department, try and get them to reconsider…" Oliver wrung his hands a little. "You're all welcome to come as well, if you want…show a united force and -"

"Of course we'll bloody come!"

"YEAH!"

"YEAH!"

"Definitely," nodded Harry. _Oh that fucking Ministry, just they wait._

_xxx_

Harry threw his keys in the vase by the door and moved quickly towards the sofa, flopping down in relief. His head was comfortably cushioned, the feet were hanging off the end, dripping mud onto the cream carpet, and the remote was under his back, but today it felt like it was straightening it out rather than crippling him. "What are you doing?" he asked, not moving to look over at Draco sitting at the computer table.

"Writing letters. I wish wizards had computers, then I wouldn't get hand cramp copying. I could just…copy, paste. Copy, paste, copy and bloody paste. We should exploit Muggles for their good ideas and I like this one. You know, I sent a printed letter to Law Enforcement and do you know what they did with it? They Stunned it and put it in isolation down in the Department of Mysteries. Idiots." Draco continued to write his letter, but once he had signed the bottom with a flourish, he turned around and eyed Harry. "Are you okay?"

"No. Pissed off."

"Why?" Draco moved to sit beside him on the edge of the sofa and ran his fingers through Harry's sweat soaked hair. Harry explained the plug of the training he'd been planning to attend for five months with a great amount of gesturing that he knew made him look like his partner. Draco nodded and listened and then he moved Harry off to bed, telling him that it would all work out in the end. Harry fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, feeling calmer and more confident. If Draco said it would be okay, then it would be. For a blonde, he was very clever.

Harry was unconscious and didn't hear Draco snort, mumbling as he left to continue writing letters, "Of course I'm clever. Not only am I blonde, I'm a Malfoy. Dingbat."

_xxx_

Viola Hamsfirst was a very efficient secretary, as far as secretaries went. She didn't let the team storm the Head of Department's office, she all gave them complaint forms and sat them down in the waiting room, making them write in silence as she composed several origami-aeroplane memos.

_Q11. Do you find the standard of the equipment provided below par? _

Harry had never really thought about it. The only bit of equipment he was concerned with was the Snitch and it would be easier to catch if it was below standard, so did he write yes or no? And did he care? They weren't there about equipment. Why were they filling out this form? Where was the bloody Head of Department and why did it smell like roast pheasant and mint in here?

"Oliver. Phst!" Harry nudged Moran to nudge Oliver. Oliver looked up from his form questioningly. Harry waved his form angrily. "What the fuck? What happened to 'united force'?! Emphasis on FORCE!"

"Please be quiet, Mr Sloper prefers silence," said the secretary, not looking up, "Please fill out your forms in silence."

Harry scowled at Oliver. Oliver shrugged, looking desperate. Harry had had enough. He stood up and strode to the secretary. "I am not filling out these stupid forms. We're here to talk about -"

"I'm sorry Mister Potter, I am not authorised to let anyone see Mr Sloper until they have completed a complaints form. There will be a two weeks waiting time and then we will book the nearest convenient time for you to talk to the Mr Sloper, based on the priority of your complaint. Please sit back down and complete your form."

"Two weeks?!"

"Yes, Mister Potter. Mr Sloper is a very busy man. Please return to your seat and complete your form." Viola finally looked up from her memo to glare at Harry. Harry looked to Oliver for a plan of action, one that hopefully meant Stunning the bloody secretary, but soon he found himself back in his chair.

_Q12. Do you think that all the members of your team are efficient in their roles enough to lead to victory? If no please name and explain._

Harry was disgusted at the form. After another twenty minutes, he was getting annoyed again about sitting and filling out paperwork that would not be looked at for two weeks, by which time it would be too late. Just as he was about to set the fucking form on fire, the door to the antechamber that was the waiting room opened and Harry's mouth dropped open. Draco strode past the whole stunned team and went straight to the secretary's desk.

"Good morning, Viola."

"Oh! Good morning, Mister Malfoy, sir." Harry narrowed his eyes, he was liking the blushing secretary even less now.

"Is Jack in? I need to speak to him," Draco sent her a smile and added, "Now."

Viola jumped from her desk like she had sat on a hedgehog and rushed to the door behind her, knocking smartly and walking straight in, her voice carrying out to everyone in the waiting room.

"Sorry to interrupt your lunch, Mr Sloper. I've got Mister Malfoy outside. Says he needs to speak to you."

"Lunch?!" hissed Harry, sending Oliver a glare for his cowardice. Viola came back to her desk. The Head of Department for Magical Games and Sports followed her and greeted Draco with a warm smile and handshake.

"Mister Malfoy, what a pleasure. What brings you here?" asked Jack Sloper, his attention not deterring from Draco. He didn't even seem to notice Harry and the rest of the team in his waiting room.

"Oh, just catching up. We haven't spoken in a long time. Has Lucy had the baby, yet?"

"Oh yes, two months old now."

"Merlin! Really? It's obviously been too long since we've spoken. What are you doing for lunch tomorrow? Got plans?"

"Only if they're with you," said Mr Sloper with a smile, "Where do you want to eat?"

"How about at the Hungry Hippogriff? I hear they do a wonderful pheasant and mint platter. I haven't been their since before the renovation. Sound good to you?"

"Sounds brilliant. Viola, owl them and book a table please."

"Of course, Mr Sloper."

Draco smiled again, and Harry felt like he was looking in on another part of Draco's life he had never seen before. "So, how is work going? You look tired, Jack. Have you been sleeping properly?"

"No, but it's not because of work. Lucy has been sending me out to Diagon Alley for ice cream. I am sure we are going to put poor Florean out of stock soon," laughed Mr Sloper. His laugh was weak, and pleading that Draco would enjoy the humour as well. Harry felt almost embarrassed for the way the Head of the Department was sucking up to his boyfriend. Harry could only see Draco in profile, but he could tell by his boyfriend's posture that he was relaxed and indulgent.

"Lucy will be back to her normal self once she gets used to having another one around…I hear your boy got onto the Ravenclaw team. Congratulations."

"Thank you! Yes, he's Beater."

"That's fantastic. Quidditch obviously runs in the family. Did you hear about Brazil? They spent three thousand galleons per player to get them into that new strategy program that everyone is attending. I don't think England has much of a chance if they don't keep up with the times," said Draco casually, fiddling with the cuff of his suit, and then smiling back up at Jack. Mr Sloper slanted his eyes towards the Quidditch team for the first time, and then back to Draco.

"Sorry Mister Malfoy, we just don't have the money to put them in the program. I would love to…but, the Department is broke."

Draco smiled, "Jack, why didn't you say? You should have come to me; I would have given you the money. After all, I have a personal interest in England's team," Harry was almost flattered at being referred to as a 'personal interest'. Mr Sloper seemed to pick up on this, because he looked straight at him, making Harry squirm a little in his seat. Draco continued, "I'll tell you what. You put the order form through for them to do their little sneak training thing, and we'll settle the money over lunch tomorrow."

"Erm…" Mr Sloper looked confused.

Draco placed a hand on his shoulder and said comfortingly, "Don't worry Jack, I wont let them kick you out just because you couldn't keep the Quidditch Cup in England. The whole country is bloody mad about the Cup staying in the country - you write out the order form, I'll give you the money and everyone wins. Sound good?"

"Yes!"

"Brilliant. See you at lunch." Draco turned and strode away. The entire England team, secretary, and Head of Department stared in awe as Draco walked out of the room, winking at Harry on the way out. "See you at home, hero."

_xxx_

**End-eth Chapter Eight**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh don't you just love the juxtaposition between domestic!Draco and professional!Draco? Lucius raised him well despite having a complete poof for an heir. If you like whacha see, review! Next chapter on Thurs! 


	9. Brian Vs Harry

**Chapter Nine**

Heels dug into the small of his back as he pushed into that hot body again and again, trailing kisses along the pale throat and nipping at the taut stretch of skin as the blonde head was thrown back into the pillows. He dug his fingers into smooth flesh, leaving little whelped crescents on twitching biceps as Draco's hands clenched and unclenched on the bed sheets. Their chests moved against one another with the slick perspiration made from the erratic movements of their hips. He was so close, and the way the hot little body arched off the mattress beneath him made him feel dizzy, as if he was at a high attitude.

He slid his tongue up the long neck to the strong jaw line, kissing his way around the skin and then up to meet soft velvet lips. It couldn't be called a kiss. Their lips rubbed against one another's, but they were gasping into one another's mouths, their tongues tapping together in afterthought. As he felt the body beneath his snap tight, he moaned loudly and -

"POTTER! PAY ATTENTION!"

Harry blinked and looked at Oliver, then to the golden ball beating its wings against the stormy wind. He threw an apologetic look at his stressed coach and leaned forward on his broom, squashing his erection into the handle as he zoomed after the Snitch.

Tomorrow would make it three weeks since he had left England, and Draco.

_xxx_

"Pick your feet up more."

"I can't. I'm dying!" whimpered Draco, panting harshly between each word.

"Don't be so melodramatic," said Brian, exasperated. He turned around to face Draco, jogging backwards, "Come on, Draco. One more mile."

"I can't! My feet are going to fall off. You can't run on stubs!"

Draco was getting tired of feeling tired. All his runs were long distance now, and he could feel himself coming to the end of his limit. One more mile was a long way. He just wanted to stop, lie down and cuddle the pavement. Glaring at Brian, he defiantly slowed down a little; his left knee felt tight in the ligaments every time he stepped another step.

Brian put his hands on his hips and slowed his pace until he was jogging alongside Draco. "Come on Draco, one more mile and we've met our target. Don't you want to win, be loved by all?"

_Ooh you're good_. "No. I don't care. Everyone hates me now; they can go on hating me. I'm not bothered. At least I won't have stubs for feet! That's not attractive. What is a Malfoy without sex appeal?"

They jogged past another seven houses at a slow pace that could only be considered a jog because he was pulling his knees up too high to be walking. Brian smiled, "Imagine how proud Harry will be when you tell him that you've finally run twenty miles!"

"He's abroad. When he asks, I'll lie and tell him I have. Twice." Draco grinned, slowing down a fraction more, trying to catch his breath. His lungs felt sore.

Brian was clearly the God of all trainers because he managed to get Draco to not only speed up, run that last stretch to make up their twenty mile target, but also got him to sprint the last bit of their jog. "Draco, there's a shop about a mile away… I bet they sell chocolate…"

_xxx_

"Harry, this is Collrem, he's the in-house Seeker," introduced Chad. Chad was the one of the camp leaders of the strategy program. He spoke in a thick American accent as he introduced Harry to Collrem. Collrem was a tall, slim brunette with a friendly smile that made Harry want to punch him. Collrem looked like Brian. "I need you to pretend that Collrem is the enemy, the opposition. Can you do that?"

"Oh, definitely," smirked Harry. _Brian was going down. Erm…Collrem_. He meant Collrem. Honestly.

"Right, Collrem is going to catch the Snitch, you are going to come up from beneath him and grab it before he's got a good grasp on it, okay?"

"Yep."

"Good, on your brooms boys."

_xxx_

"I want you to jog to the gym from now on," said Brian, "Instead of taking the bus."

"Okay," Draco would have agreed to anything at that moment. He was in heaven. He and Brian sat on a low wall outside the corner shop, bottles of water balanced between them. Brian was eating an apple and Draco was making love to his Mars Bar.

"How far away do you live?"

"About three miles."

"Okay, well if it doesn't bother you…then I could escort you home. Jogging to and from the gym will put the last six miles on your distance," suggested Brian. Draco smiled over at him and took another big bite of caramel, nougat and chocolate.

"Sounds good."

_xxx_

All the food was in really large portions, and Harry didn't think that he should be eating an eighteen ounce piece of lamb. It might weigh him down when he next got on a broom. However, after eating like a bird for the last couple of weeks, he felt he deserved it. Their table was loud and disrupted most of the other occupants in the restaurant, but Harry didn't care. They had reason to celebrate. All of them had passed with honours in the strategy training program, and they were finally leaving for home the next day.

As Harry was making his way through the colossal piece of meat and talking to Moran about what the possible mascots for the French might be, Oliver stood up from his seat and clanked his fork against his beer glass. Everyone went quiet and looked at him as he made his toast.

"I would like to say a couple of words. Firstly, well done everyone! I knew you'd all be able to pass, and you certainly did! Seven rounds of honours! Amazing! We'll be putting all we learned into practise for these last few weeks, and hopefully we'll be able to use them when we meet up against Argentina in five weeks time. Here's to the World Cup!" Everyone clanked their glasses and drank to it. Oliver made to sit down, but seemed to change his mind and stood up again. "One more thing! We wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for Draco Malfoy. Sneaky little shit that he is, we should all be thankful that we have at least one serpent looking after us. So, let us toast to Harry's choice of boyfriend. To Harry's Slytherin!"

"HARRY'S SLYTHERIN!" _Clink._

_xxx_

"He's my marathon trainer!" insisted Draco, opening the door to the flat and ushering Brian in. Mrs Wiltson tutted with disapproval from the stairwell. Draco scowled at her and stepped inside his home, slamming the door in her face. "HAG!"

Brian laughed at Draco's temperamental words and looked around the flat, letting an appreciative whistle loose. "Nice place."

"Thanks. Kitchen is through there. There's filtered water in the fridge. I'll be there in a minute." Brian nodded and moved around the living room to the kitchen. Draco waited until he was gone and then legged it over to the computer desk, pulled out one of the drawers, and grabbed his wand. Leaning backwards a little, he spied Brian riffling through the fridge.

Draco made a complicated wiggle with his wand and murmured a bit of Latin that he had never had to use before. He'd never had Muggles round to visit. He was unsure if the spell had worked, so he threw his wand back in the drawer and went over to the snake cages. Above the cages were picture frames on shelves. The photographic people stood as still as the pyramids in the frames, and Draco sighed in relief. "Draco, are you ready to do your stretches?"

"What? Oh, yes. Will the rug be okay, do you think?"

"Should be. Lie down and give me your leg."

_xxx_

Harry's suitcases were heavy, and he would have shrunk them if it were not for the Muggles in the rest of the apartment building. They all knew he had been away, under the guise of visiting American relatives, and for him to return without suitcases would be madness. So he hauled two large suitcases up four flights of stairs. As he stepped out onto the landing, dropping the heavier of the suitcases containing his broom and clothes, he was greeted by the sight of Mrs Wiltson in her purple dressing gown.

"Hello Mrs Wiltson."

She didn't return the platitude and moved forward, grabbing his spare hand and clutching it to her chest. Harry would have pulled back, but her serious sympathetic face made him pause. "I am so sorry dear. I knew he was trouble when I first saw him. If you ever need to talk to anyone, anyone at all," she pressed his encaged hand against her sternum and looked sincerely up at him, "then you know you can come to me. Me and Mr Wiltson are very fond of you, dear. Don't hesitate to visit us if you need to talk about it."

"Erm…okay…" Deciding that she had finally snapped, Harry pulled his hand away from her bosom and grabbed the handle of his suitcase, moving to his front door. He could feel her watching him as he put the key into the lock and stepped inside.

Mrs Wiltson was not crazy, Harry realised, she was an opportunist.

"What the hell is going on here?" he yelled, dropping his keys into the crystal bowl.

Draco shifted his head to the side, his hair becoming static as it rubbed against the carpet; he looked round Brian's bum at Harry. Draco smiled. "Hey! You're back!"

_xxx_

As soon as the door slammed shut behind Brian, Harry whirled around and advanced on Draco. "What is he doing here, in my house, with you flat on your back, you little slut?"

"SLUT?!"

Harry nodded. "Yeah! Slut!" Harry reached out and snatched Draco's wrist, pulling him close. They bared their teeth at each other. Draco tried to pull away, but Harry tightened his grip until the bone beneath his palm gave a worrying groan. "What is he doing here?"

"He was just doing my warm down stretches!"

"Bullshit!" snarled Harry. He leaned forward until his lips were right next to Draco's ear, "I know about your little crush. You want him to hold you down and fuck you raw. Don't you? How many times have you let him, eh? I've been gone three weeks, come home and find you with your legs in the air. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Actually, yes! Now back the fuck off!" yelled Draco, yanking his hand free and pushing Harry away.

"Tell me the truth," begged Harry, circling around Draco who stood next to the sofa with his head down. "How many times have you fucked him?"

"None."

"I said, tell me the truth!"

"I am, you wanker."

"I don't believe you," stated Harry. Draco turned around and looked at him, looking surprised. "You walk around spouting off about him like some lovesick Hufflepuff."

"You really think I'd cheat on you?" he asked, his voice small and shocked. Harry wasn't buying it and he just folded his arms across his chest, waiting for an explanation. Draco scowled. "Fine! If you really do believe that I've cheated on you, then I'd better leave!" Draco spun on his heel and went to the front door.

"Where are you going?" asked Harry, feeling a little bit of panic settle in as Draco stepped out into the corridor.

"I'm going to stay with Blaise until you come to your senses," snapped Draco. He smiled sardonically and added, "You never know, I might actually get fucked if I stay with Blaise; at least he's not engaged, like Brian!"

The door slammed shut and Harry was left alone in the flat.

_xxx_

The secretary was still filing her nails, and it was any wonder how she had not filed down to the knuckle with her amount of dedication. "I need to see Brian Wright, please."

"Please take a seat and I will see if he is available."

Harry took a seat, panting a little. The secretary continued to file her nails for a few minutes during which Harry glared pointedly at her. She ignored him and finished off filing her pinkie into a perfect semi-circle before picking up the phone and dialling an internal extension. "Hi. Is Brian in, yet...Can you send him to reception, please? Thank you." She put the phone down, picked up her file and began on her other hand, saying absently, "Brian will be with you in a minute."

The scraping of the nail file echoed around the reception and grated on him, until he was clenching his teeth with each swipe. The door opened and in walked a group of women, flashing their cards to the distracted receptionist, and continuing through the turnstile. Harry summarised that the silly woman wouldn't notice if someone flashed a gun at her instead of their membership.

The 'Staff Only' door opened and out stepped Brian, having the audacity to smile at Harry as he walked over. Harry stood up. No confrontation was effective when you were looking up at the person you were trying to squish.

"Hi, Harry. What can I do for you?" Brian asked politely.

"I want you to answer a few questions, actually," he stated flatly, "Have you fucked my boyfriend?"

A little squeak made both men look at the secretary. She was still filing. Brian faced back to Harry, his smile looking a big forced now.

"No, I haven't."

"Never?"

"No. Never."

"So why were you in my home when I returned from holiday?" snapped Harry. He just wanted Brian to bloody admit it!

"I asked Draco to jog to and from the gym. I usually jog home with him so I can do his stretches when he gets there - don't want him to pull a muscle before the race."

"Oh…are you…are you engaged?" Harry didn't want to ask this. This wasn't his business.

Brian, however, lit up and held out his hand, presenting a simple engagement band on his finger. "Her name is Rebecca. She's brilliant. We've been going out for years now, but I asked her to marry me last month. She's absolutely lovely. Draco met her once; he says I picked well…"

As Brian droned on about his fiancée, his voice strangely reminiscent of when Draco babbled on about Brian and the marathon, Harry felt sick. What had he done? Draco probably hated him! Oh no…oh no, oh no, oh no! Brian's hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked up at him.

"Are you and Draco okay? He loves you a lot, you know. Between his 'when I win' and 'everyone will love and worship me', you're all he talks about."

Harry shook his head. "No, you're all he talks about… that's why I thought…"

Brian shrugged. "He can't talk about you _to you_, can he? That's just weird."

Harry laughed. Brian smiled. Lauren, the secretary, huffed. _Men_. _Where was the snoggage?_

_xxx_

"Draco, please! Forgive me! I'll do anything, just come back home," begged Harry, standing on the doorstep of the Zabini mansion. Blaise snorted.

"You should make him get on his knees." Harry shot Blaise a glare.

"You're not helpful," he snapped.

"I know," grinned Blaise as he pointed to the floor. "Go on Gryffindor, down on your knees."

Harry looked at Draco, but Draco's gaze was unforgiving. Harry sighed and dropped down to his knees, the prickly 'not welcomed' mat stinging his knees through his jeans. Looking up at his ex from his new angle, he suddenly understood why Draco was sensitive about his height.

"Draco, please come home. Please. I was stupid, and jealous, and angry, and I am so sorry. Please," Harry requested softly, hoping that he looked pathetic enough to look as sorry as he truly felt. Blaise opened his mouth to command him into a more degrading position, but Draco cut him off.

"I forgive you for thinking that I was cheating on you. I forgive you for calling me a slut. I even forgive you for being jealous because…" Draco flushed a little and Harry wanted to lick his cheeks, "I did, admittedly, have a crush on Brian. But that's all it was, a crush. So you can call me a slut, but you CANNOT…" Draco leaned down, growling into Harry's worried eyes, "Call me a Hufflepuff!"

_Typical_, thought Harry as his knees began to bleed on the mat.

_xxx_

**End-eth Chapter Nine**

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Author's Note:** Some of you seemed pretty upset that I deprived Draco of his chocolate...Well, Brian takes pity on his plight too XD If you like chocolate, or the chapter, leave a review before the door hits you where the good Lord split you - LOVEAGE! (Btw, going on holiday in two weeks so to make sure this series is finished before I go away, there will be an extra update this Saturday! Enjoy!) 


	10. Dry

**Chapter Ten**

The Flash was a club known to show a bit of flesh. Many times it was referred to as the fleshy flash or sometimes just, The Flesh. Harry summarised that it was for Seamus' love of flesh and flashes of flesh that he chose to drag everyone off to this particular nightclub for his birthday. The Flash was a wizard club and so to get inside, everyone had to walk through a mock metal-detector that searched for magical energy. Hermione got pulled aside and asked to spell something to prove herself. She had turned the bouncer into a basketball for the insult, stepped right over him and followed everyone in to grab a table.

The club was divided in two, a large room that could rival the great hall of Hogwarts, with the middle levelled down was alive with a mass of bodies, claiming it as the dance floor. Around the outside were tables and chairs and then stairs leading to another level, a balconied tier that had more seating and excellent view of the people below. This was where Harry was. Leaning over the railing, he stared down into the pit-cum-dance floor, trying to spot that infamous blonde hair in the dim strobe lighting.

"Everybody put your wand hand in the air!" commanded the announcement over the dance floor, the occupants screaming with delight and all the moving bodies raising their palms up to the balcony above as the latest 'Tenacious Trolls' song vibrated through the room.

Hermione came and lounged on the next to Harry, looking down at the stage below too. "Are you and Draco okay now?" she asked as quietly as one could while in an obnoxiously loud club.

"Yeah…" Harry smiled as he spotted Draco dancing scantily between the twins, and Harry had to laugh. Draco had often tried to convince him of a foursome with the two terrors. "He wasn't mad that I calling him a cheater. He was pissed that I said he was a Hufflepuff."

Hermione gave a little giggle and said with the wisdom of someone who had just expanded their living room into a fifth library, "Insult a Slytherin all you like, but never debase their house or blood." Hermione gave a little guilty giggle and asked with the subtly of a fangirl, "So…did you two kiss and make up?"

"Hermione!" Harry felt himself flush. He glanced out the corner of his eye and said, "Well…maybe…I tell you what, I was a little surprised to get him naked and find he had a six pack coming through. He's got muscles!" She gave a tinkling laugh of delight and kissed him on the cheek before making her way to the stairs which led to below.

Harry continued to watch Draco from his vantage point, smiling a bit when the blonde scooped Hermione up into a saucy dance that was interrupted by Ron. Harry kept a close eye on him, not because he was worried Draco might cheat. No…he watched because now Draco had tasted life without Harry again.

_xxx_

"Some dirty blonde tried to shimmy all over me!" cried Draco in outrage as he battled with his belt buckle. He jangled it about but it wouldn't give. So, trying to be smart, he undid the button and flies of his trousers around the obstacle, and then yanked downwards. A loud ripping sound signalled the fabric ripping on his belt loops .That was when Harry walked back in to find him with his trousers around his ankles, belt still perched on his hips and only one arm in his shirt.

"Stop laughing."

"Sorry, it's just…"

"Stop it. Just stop laughing," mumbled Draco unhappily. Harry reduced his mirth to a chuckle but Draco was not impressed with the effort and if he was in his right mind he would have hexed the brunette. However, he hadn't the coordination for hexing or undoing pesky belts. "My belt is stuck."

Harry put the glass of water on the bedside table and shook his head as he knelt down before Draco, his hands going out to the restrictive band. "It's not stuck, you're just drunk."

"No I'm not!" _I might be_. After all, he had been doing vodka shots with the birthday boy. Drinking the Irish under the table was a no mean feat.

"Oh, so you usually try to grope girls, do you?" asked Harry. The belt fell to the floor with a clank. Harry made to straighten up but Draco put a hand on his head, he liked the way Harry looked down there. At his feet.

"I thought she was you. You both had the same hair cut…can I have a blowjob?" he hoped he didn't sound too domineering because then who would want to blow a bossy boots? Was he wearing boots? Draco tilted his head a little and found that no, he wasn't wearing boots. Which was probably a good thing.

Harry's hands were already pulling down his boxers and Draco looked over at the mirrors on the wardrobes. Something was wrong. Instead of his face there was a big black blob. Was he the black blob? Why wasn't it a blonde blob? "Harry…I think those twins did something…bad…" Harry's hand stilled and he looked up worryingly.

"What's the matter?"

Draco looked down at Harry, but there was no Harry, only another blob. Draco let out a sob of desperation and put his hand out until it collided with something beyond the blob. Something soft and warm. "I think I'm going blind."

_xxx_

Confused and, frankly, worried, Harry stood up and looked into Draco's eyes. They were dilated to impossible size and tears were trailing out the corners to run down his face as he began to take panicked breaths.

"Why do you think you are going blind?"

"I'm a blob!"

"You're not fat," assured Harry, pulled Draco's boxers up and forced him to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Draco shook his head, "No! I'm a blob!"

"Draco, you're not making any sense."

"I'm a blob, Harry. And so are you! I'm blind!" Harry decided that Draco was too drunk for his own good.

"Okay, calm down. Let's get you into bed, it will be better in the morning."

"…Promise?"

"Definitely. Come on, under the covers." Harry pulled his own clothes off, throwing them in a pile by the door and climbed under the covers, leaving a corner back and beckoning Draco over. Draco struggled to get his arm out of his shirt and Harry tried not to laugh at the drunken struggle. The shirt was eventually defeated and part of the fabric collage on the floor. Draco crawled over the mattress on his hands and knees, swaying dangerously but eventually got himself cuddled up on Harry's chest. Harry stayed up into the early hours of the morning, monitoring Draco in his sleep, just in case he was going to chuck chunks in their bed.

_xxx_

Sunlight was evil.

Draco tucked his head back into Harry's chest and clenched his eyes closed in a vain hope to stop the dragons in his head from bashing in his skull and the sunlight from making him shrivel up like the witch in the Wizard of Oz or Snape near shampoo. To no avail, he had a marathon to run in a month, he would definitely have to get up and go jogging.

Sitting up, Draco was overcome with vertigo and sun spots obscured his vision for a moment before he blinked them away. He stood up and stumbled his way to the wardrobe, rummaging around for his tracksuit and a tank top that Harry said made him look sexy. If he looked good then he would feel good. Right? Wrong.

Once Draco was dressed, he didn't feel any better. His skin was sensitive and the clothes hurt to wear, he'd rather be naked. Leaving Harry in bed to snore loudly, he went through the flat to the kitchen, flinging open the cupboard above the sink. Reaching up on tip toes, _damn my height again_, he stretched for the top shelf. His hands glided right past the aspirin and pain potion, grabbing the neck of the vodka and unfitting the cap to down a mouthful. "Bleugh!"

Coughing, he set the bottle in the sink and went to the front door to put on his shoes, ignoring the rancid taste of nail polish in his gob. "We're off to see the Wizard…the wonderful wizard of Oz…because, because, because! He's the wonderful Wizard of Oz…"

Stepping out into the fresh morning air and evil sunshine of doom, he headed off at a run to the park. It was a little later than he usually ran, about half nine and the children were out, screaming and crying, laughing and yelling and generally making his headache that much worse. Every step made his stomach lurch with the motion and his feet dragged up the dust on the track. As he moved at a slow pace under the tree canopies, he was overcome by sunspots again.

Slowing down a little because he couldn't see where the track was, Draco clenched and unclenched his eyes, trying to rid himself of the blobby shades in his vision. It wasn't working. In fact, the blackness was getting bigger and worse, and soon he was running in a thick grey fog and his chest hurt. Coming to a standstill, Draco prayed to Merlin that it wasn't permanent. Trying to catch his breath, Draco wondered when Harry was coming to rescue him.

A wave of nausea overcame him and he leant forward, dry heaving onto his shoes as his heart pounded into his throat. Tired, sore, dizzy and thirsty, Draco made the conscious decision to kiss the dirt track before he passed out.

_xxx_

"Out of my way!" yelled Harry, pushing past a woman with a little boy perched on her hip. She mumbled about the rudeness of homeless people but let him past. Harry slammed his hand down on the counter, making the nurse behind the reception desk jump. "I'm looking for my boyfriend. Draco Malfoy."

"Sir, there is a queue and -"

"No. Now! Where is he?!" Harry would have pulled his wand out on the dithering old dear but banishing a stick at a Muggle would not get him to Draco any quicker. She looked at him, unimpressed beneath her grey eyebrows so he added pleadingly, "Please. I have to see him. Can you just tell me where he is?"

"Do you know how he arrived here?"

"By ambulance."

"When?"

"I don't know. I just got a phone call. Please, tell me where he is!"

The nurse turned on her computer screen and typed in Draco's name on the keyboard, Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot. She smiled up at him and said, "He's in room one hundred and three. Second floor."

"Thank you!" spinning around, bumping into the child baring woman again without apology, he ran to the elevators.

The elevator music was a little anti-climatic and he was vibrating with need for the damn contraption to stop climbing with such sloth. Tapping the buttons hadn't made it go any faster and kicking the mirrored wall in a fit of frustration hadn't motivated it one bit. When the doors finally did open, Harry sprinted away down the corridor, reading the door numbers as he went. Finally, he came to 103. Pushing the door aside, he sighed with relief.

_xxx_

The door banged against the wall and Harry stood in the threshold looking like he had just battled a couple of Dark Lords on his way over because they had held up traffic. Harry moved towards him, stumbling a little with desperation to get over to the bed. "God, are you okay?"

"No!" Pouted Draco. Harry looked horrified and began patting him over for open wounds.

"What's wrong?"

"This stupid gown doesn't close up at the back and I flashed my nurse by accident."

Harry looked at him, his eyes wide. Then they narrowed dangerously and Draco got slapped upside the head. "You bastard, you had me so worried! Don't you _ever_ do that again!"

"Oh yes, because I usually collapse with dehydration on purpose," Draco rolled his eyes and with a little bit of sadistic glee, slapped Harry right back for his stupidity. Harry sat on the side of the bed and slapped him on the head. Draco got immediate revenge and slapped him back. After a small bitch fight, Draco slapped Harry for the fifth time and Harry grabbed him by his hair, pulling him into a kiss.

It was frantic and harsh and Harry's teeth nipped at his lips in punishment. He felt guilty for worrying Harry and his clearly fragile Gryffindor sensibilities and as they kissed, the needle on the underside of his elbow made him feel squicky as it flexed in the vein.

This was how Cheryl, his nurse found them. Breaking apart at the little squeal, very reminiscent of that usually emitted from the gym secretary, they turned and looked at her. Brown hair and brown eyes fixed intently on the occupants of the bed. Harry ignored her completely and turned to Draco.

"I don't want you doing the marathon. Quit now, it's too dangerous."

Draco scowled. _It was so not too dangerous._ "It would so not be too dangerous. I'm still doing it."

Harry shook his head and Draco wanted to slap him again, "No. Draco, I am not going to let you do this. You passed out for god sakes! I told you last year this would not be good for your health, and now look at you!"

Cheryl gave a little cough and walked forward, fiddling with the bags of fluids hanging on a pole, "Mister Malfoy should be fine to run the marathon. We put him on the IV three hours ago and so long as he stops drinking alcohol, and keeps taking in plenty of water, then he shall be fine."

"See, 'fine'," smiled Draco. Harry didn't look happy, the glare he was sending to Cheryl went unnoticed because she was scribbling something down on her clipboard. "Look Harry, I didn't spend all year training for nothing. I am going to do this marathon. I shall win, and I will be loved by all and -"

"Okay, okay…just…Please…" Harry looked at a loss of what he was pleading for, "Just don't pass out again."

Draco had the joy of slapping Harry over the head again.

_xxx_

**End-eth Chapter Ten**

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Author's Note:** Yay for Saturdays, tis an extra update! Doncha just love that? Yeah, yah do! If you feel sorry for draco shrivelling up like a prune, please leave a review on your way out. I shall be replying to the reviews from the last chapter tomorrow, slasher's promise! Loveage! Ciao! 


	11. Pledges

**Chapter Eleven**

"Wait, wait, wait!" exclaimed Draco just as Harry was about to lock the front door. He pushed past Harry and ran back inside. Harry rolled his eyes and waited. Two minutes later, Draco came out and smiled. "Sun-bleached yellow. Okay, let's go."

Harry wrinkled his nose and locked the door. After Draco's collapse last month, they had been extra careful that he was hydrated. Harry made sure there was always filtered water in the fridge, and Draco now measured his drinks in a large two litre bottle which he refilled three times a day. The side affect was that he constantly needed to pee, sometimes at the most inconvenient times. Like on a rollercoaster. They were told by the hospital that they were to be aware of Draco's hydration levels by the colour of his urine. The darker it was, the more dehydrated he was. So far, Draco had managed to never repeat the same shade of pee twice. Three hours ago he had depicted it 'mellow yellow'.

They spent almost all their time running or working out, or Harry trying to teach Draco the rules of race etiquette. Draco firmly believed that elbowing people to the ground was ethical and Harry had to spend three hours trying to persuade him otherwise.

Harry always went jogging with Draco now, a precaution to which Draco didn't complain. Harry found himself surprised at Draco's endurance. Their morning jogs had now expanded, at Draco's request, to a wider parameter around the streets, eventually ending at a lap around the park for nostalgia's sake. Harry was even more surprised to find himself struggling to keep up, while Draco managed to complete his own course each time with relative ease, and do it whilst singing Snow White songs.

"Come on, Potter!" yelled Draco, a few meters ahead, running under the trees of the park. Harry gave an extra burst of speed to catch up, which turned out to be much easier than he had anticipated, because Draco had stopped. He pointed at the ground and said, "I fainted here."

Harry looked down at that part of the path. It was no different from any other stretch they had ran, and it looked innocent enough in the patches of sunlight that escaped the spread of the leaves from the trees. "Do you need to spit on it?" suggested Harry. Draco shook his head.

"No. Spitting? That's plebeian…" Draco scrunched up his face and pounded his foot onto the patch of floor, kicking up dust with each stomp. After a moment, he nodded and resumed running. Harry laughed, because he knew that that was probably the most cathartic moment Draco had ever expressed. Moving his own feet, Harry caught up with Draco so they ran side by side. He glanced out of his eye and saw the determination that only a Slytherin could achieve.

One week until the race.

_xxx_

"I am obviously going to win this race," said Draco, plopping himself on the sofa and turning the TV from Simpsons to Sports Live channel. Harry groaned and leaned his head back against the sofa. He didn't think he could physically watch the sports channels one more second, otherwise he might blow his brains out.

"Hmm…so you've said. Repeatedly."

"Only because you seemed to underestimate me. Now. I am going to win. So maybe I should win for charity…I signed up for it last night over the internet."

Harry shook his head. His boyfriend could not be that stupid. "Draco…you mean…you are going to be running for charity?...As in…for money?!"

"Yeah." Draco shrugged like there was nothing wrong.

"You do realise you're expected to get pledges and money _before_ the race, right?"

"Of course, you dingbat."

"But Draco…there are only six days left! How are you going to get all that money in six days? These damn charities don't just want three quid, one from me, yourself and bloody Blaise!"

"You'd only sponsor me for a quid?"

Harry pointedly ignored that. "Draco, seriously. How are you going to get all this money?"

Harry relaxed when Draco smirked. When Draco smirked, it meant he had a Slytherin plan, or that he wanted something. Or that he had a Slytherin plan to get what he wanted.

"You forget, Harry. Tomorrow is the Ministry party."

_xxx_

Trays of champagne were floating about at nipple height around the room, and Harry kept bending down like a silly half-breed to see if there were people underneath, carrying them. Draco had nudged him several times to try and stop him, but Harry was still convinced that the trays were being carried by something, whether visible or not.

"Harry, stop that," Draco said and scowled, stealing a flute off the tray that Harry was waving his hand underneath. "Act like you understand magic." Harry obeyed and straightened up, taking his own drink from the tray and sipping it like every retired hero was supposed to. Draco saw his eyes wander underneath the tray as it floated away. His ignorance was fetching sometimes, and Draco wanted to slam Harry up against the Minister's podium and do things that would probably get him twice as much money as he needed for the marathon pledges from the DVD sales alone.

"Everyone, please be seated," simpered Terry Boot, flushing red at the humiliation of growing up to be the announcer to… "Please put your hands together, for the Minister, Neville Longbottom."

Draco privately believed that Longbottom became Minister by giving everyone poisonous plants under the pretence of a potted office-warming gift. Slowly but surely, as everyone was found strangled by Devil's Snare or mutilated by the puss-agitated Mimbulus MimbletoniaLongbottom climbed his way up the social ladder, finally offing Fudge with a cheese plant. Harry kept insisting that Neville had hidden talents. Draco was adamant that the man was a murderous green-fingered genius.

Neville ambled up to the podium, no long the podgy boy he had once been, but a well built man who had a fetish towards baby blue piping on every set of robes he owned. He was now a competent spearhead of the Ministry, whom Draco loved to manipulate. Neville began a speech about the 'wonderful work that has been displayed this year', and the 'brilliant staff who have made it all that much better for society', and 'that in the public interest…' blah, blah, blah. All Draco knew was that whatever Longbottom was saying was making people smile with pride. _Bunch of Hufflepuffs._ Draco frowned out of the corner of his eye at Harry, who was also smiling like a loon.

As Longbottom was climbing off the dais, Draco weaved forward, pushing past bloody Terry, and grabbed Longbottom's sleeve. Neville turned around to be stunned by the on-your-knees-please smile Draco was flashing him. "Evening, Longbottom. I was wondering if you knew what the London Marathon was."

"Oh," Neville smiled lightly and waved off the guards that were about to tackle Draco to the ground for ambushing the Minister, "Yes, I have. I read that you are going to be running it. Next week isn't it?"

"Yes. It is." Draco nodded and put the wattage on his smile up to it-tastes-like-sherbet-honestly, "I am actually doing my bit for charity and I was wondering if I could have a little go at the stand, to see if I can get a little money for all the poor, sick Gryffindors out there."

"Oh," Neville said. It seemed Neville began everything with 'oh' like the world was a shock on his sensibilities. "Yes, definitely. Would I be able to make a pledge?"

"Certainly Minister." Draco drew out his form and clicked his fingers. A large red quill that Draco knew would appeal to the Minister's house pride appeared. He held both out and Neville signed a large sum of money next to his signature.

_xxx_

Harry stood, gaping in horror. The champagne flute hung limply in his hands as everyone gazed in horror at Draco Malfoy, standing on top of the Minister's podium with his head tilted back as he looked down upon the crowd of officials and workers. Nothing good ever came from the moment when the most manipulative, influential person of the Ministry stands up and begins a speech, "I know all you're secrets…"

Draco gained a lot of pledges that night.

_xxx_

"Hello, Mister Malfoy, are you with the Granger Party this evening?"

"Yes, Qing."

"Right this wa -"

"No, wait." Draco reached out and stopped her from leading him to the same table he sat in every weekend. Her dark eyes snapped to his hand on her arm and up at him. He smiled and brandished his sponsor form at her, offering her a turquoise pen.

When Draco had acquired her signature, he hounded the Gryffindors. After ordering, he chose the shy approach and dipped his head, gingerly presenting the sponsor form. Naturally the women pulled out their purses straight away. Seamus did because he wanted to know if it was a contract into Draco's trousers. Dean did whatever Seamus did, and Ron followed Hermione's suit when she elbowed him for being insensitive. Fred and George, however, played their favourite game before adding their names to the list. Poke the Slytherin.

"If we sign our names here -" began Fred, waving the sponsor sheet around hazardously.

"- are we signing our souls to the devil?" finished George, tussling Draco's hair into horns. He almost snapped the ginger idiot's neck right there and then.

"Or," said Fred, sticking a finger in Draco's ribs, "If we sign this, do we get to have that foursome with you and Harry?"

_Oh my god, how do they know about that?!_ "You'll have to ask Harry that," replied Draco, not denying it in case he got lucky. Harry just shook his head.

"Definitely not."

"Aww, you're no fun," chorused Draco and the twins, all pouting. Harry did not falter.

_xxx_

Harry went downstairs to collect the mail from the lobby, and as he opened the door, he heard a blend of voices that was quite unusual. Draco never spoke to Mrs Wiltson unless he had to, and certainly not in the low conspiring tone he was using now.

"Sponsor me three hundred and you'll get two pictures. Full frontal nudity. C'mon Mrs Wiltson, don't you want to know how long his lease is?"

"Two fifty."

"Don't be skimpy. Three hundred."

"Two pictures for three hundred! That's extortion!"

"Okay, okay. Make it four hundred for three pictures."

"Four pictures!"

"Four! I'm not giving you four pictures of my man for only a hundred each. Three pictures, four hundred. It's my final offer."

"…Fine."

"Brilliant. Sign here and put the amount there…good. Thank you Mrs Wiltson!"

Draco appeared at the door, almost running into Harry, who stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. "Oh…erm… Hi, Potter…Harry…" He shifted guiltily from foot to foot, staring at Harry as if to try and judge how angry he was. Finally, it seemed that he didn't care, because he brandished the sponsor sheet in front of Harry's face and said, "Look! Told you I'd get the money!"

_xxx_

**End-eth Chapter Eleven**

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Author's Note: **Neville for Minister! Woo! This is my favourite chapter, so don't diss it when you leave a review! Are you all liking the story? Last chapter is up on Thursday, and we will find out if Draco will finally be Loved By All! Hope I see you all on Thursday, be there, wearing silver and green to support Draco! Its race day! 


	12. Race Day

**Chapter Twelve**

"Come on Draco. Rise and shine!"

"Is there sunshine?"

Harry looked out the window. "No, not yet."

"Then I'm not rising!" yelled the stubborn voice beneath the blankets. Harry sighed and went over to the bed, climbed on top of the mound of fabric and boyfriend, and grabbed handfuls of the lump, pinching and squeezing until squeals of outrage muffled through.

"Come on, you lazy snake, you. Today's the day!"

"Vagay?!" shouted the bump, which Harry roughly translated to 'what day?' or 'lunar bay?' His pillow talk was a little rusty. Yanking the covers off to reveal a very ruffled Draco, his blonde hair sticking off his head at every angle imaginable, Harry grinned encouragingly into his face and told him what day.

"Race day! Get up you lazy sod, how are you supposed to do a marathon on your back?" Draco openly grinned and went to say something, but Harry cut him off, "There is no such word as a sexathon."

Draco raised an eyebrow that clearly said that he begged to differ, and once his energy was not divided towards the marathon, then he would prove it. Harry flopped on the mattress and buried his head and hands into Draco's back, trying to push and butt him out of bed. "Get up!"

"I might move faster if you pinched a little lower…"

"If I did, then neither of us would be moving from this bed. Get up!" Harry gave one final push and Draco dropped gracelessly off the side of the bed in a roll of limbs and blankets. His head popped up a second later as he sent the Malfoy death-glare across to Harry, who found him adorable. Like a hissing kitten. "Get ready. We'll leg it round the park before we drive up to the starting line."

Draco paled a little, but nodded. Their run was done in silence.

_xxx_

Sometimes he twitches when he is trying particularly hard to get to sleep. It's unintentional; his body would be so tired that all the command signals from his brain would go haywire and make his leg twitch. Sometimes, it twitched and ended up kicking Harry. Harry swore that Draco did it on purpose, but Harry didn't have Twitchy Leg Syndrome, so he couldn't understand.

Sometimes, Twitchy Leg Syndrome carried into his subconscious, and as he dreamt about a whole harem of Harrys…a Harry harem, his leg would suddenly twitch, waking not only himself from the wonderful dream, but Harry as well. Harry assumed this was purposeful, as well.

Now Draco's legs were twitching and yes, he was doing it on purpose. To hide the nervous shakes. By jiggling his legs in a vague rhythm that could convey impatience better than nerves. If Harry knew he was nervous, then he would suggest that Draco back out, and as the car neared London, Draco was more than likely to agree.

As Harry changed gear, Draco wished he had stayed in bed that day.

_xxx_

Draco checked that his number was pinned upon his chest securely for the third time, then bent down, dipping below the bent bums doing stretches, to check his laces. Brian had once told him a story about a man who jogged with untied shoelaces and Draco wasn't going to make that mistake! Definitely not. Stretching his legs a little, rotating each ankle, and tapping each foot on the ground, he was beginning to feel anxious. He stomach felt like it was in his left trainer, flopping about every time he looked at the large start line.

A Draco checked the plasters on his nipples, he heard his name through the noise of the crowd and he turned his head for the source. The sight that met him made him laugh with surprise. They were all there, and had somehow managed to push their way to the front of the spectators. Harry was clenching the railing, smiling at him with what Draco dared to assume was pride. Around him were Seamus, Dean, Hermione and Ron. The Weasley twins were chanting his name and holding up a banner. He squinted over the heads of the other runners and made out the silver and green words waving in the light breeze, _Draco: Champion of the Muggles!_ Standing next to the twins, clearly irritated that elbows were being waggled in front of his face, was Blaise, looking terribly uncomfortable to be surrounded by so many blood traitors, half breeds, Mudbloods and Muggles. But he was there, nevertheless, shooting glares at everyone around him. When he caught Draco's gaze, he smirked and tilted his head. Looking a little way down, Draco's surprise was almost tangible. Standing there, with his arm wrapped around a woman he had met once before, was Brian. Both of them waved to him.

Spinning his eyes back to Harry, he let the grin that had been threatening to break free finally mar his face. Harry smiled back, joining in with the twins chanting. "Draco, Draco, he's the best, we love him more than all the rest! Draco! Draco!"

"Contenders. Please move to the start line." Draco stood, letting the rest of the runners shuffle forward. Once he was further back in the bulk, he got ready for the run he had been waiting for. This was his time to prove that he was not just a pretty face, though _damn, am I pretty_, he was going to be the winner. He was going to be loved by all and he was certainly not going to collapse before he reached the finishing line. "Ladies and gentlemen…on your marks…get set…GO!"

The shuffle was madness, like the buffalo run of the Serengeti; every runner made to step forward, then jerked to a halt because the person in front hadn't been able to move for the person in front of them. Draco would have hexed his way through or shot a couple of Stinging Hexes to get people moving, but before he had left the flat he hadn't solved the problem of one wand, a Muggle marathon, and a skimpy pair of shorts. So with the false patience only achieved from his aristocratic upbringing, he waited for the hustle. Waving his hand at Harry and the others, he began his long run.

_xxx_

Harry watched Draco disappear out of sight in the bustle and Harry could only smile. Turning around to the others, he clapped his hand and said, "Alright, let's go. We've got to get to Tower Bridge and then to The Mall."

"Can't we just Apparate Harry?" whined Ron as he was hit over the head with the banner by the twins.

"What about my car?"

"Come back for it after the race." Ron was like Draco, a pureblood and though. He wasn't as blatant as Draco, but they both had the same distrust for all things Muggle. If the car didn't have an invisibility booster, then it was obviously a death trap.

"Alright, we'll Apparate, but where are we going to do it where Muggles won't see us?"

"On top of the bridge," said Hermione. Everyone looked at her like she had just told them she was quitting S.P.E.W. She rolled her eyes. "We can stand on one of the towers - no one will see us there." They all looked at each other.

_xxx_

"Ouch! Bloody hell Fred, get off me!" snapped Ron, kicking his brother off him.

_Pop!_ "George!!! ARGH! My legs!"

"I'm not that heavy!"

"Please, shut up you three. Look, the racers are coming this way!"

"Get off my bloody legs!"

"Gosh, what a lovely view from here!"

"Like to see you park your car up here, Harry!"

"Out of my way, Weasel! Let me have a look."

"Charming, Zabini."

_xxx_

His skin felt like wallpaper. Sticky and thick, his own skin dragged him down, but all things considering, he felt pretty good. His left foot ached and he had swallowed a couple of bugs, but he was coming up to the twelve mile mark. Draco stepped his first step onto Tower Bridge with crowds cheering from the path.

He ignored the hand that had anonymously reached out from the spectators to pinch his bum as he moved closer to the railings to get to the water station. Never mind the horny fans, he needed water _goddamnit_! Snatching up a plastic cup that contained such a small amount of water in comparison to the Thames flowing under his feet, he took great gulps and wondered briefly what colour his pee would be at the end of the race.

Still jogging, Draco went to sip the last of the water from his cup, his head tilted back completely as his Adam's apple bobbed the droplets down his throat. As he was making supplication to the cup, he opened his eyes to the sky between the overhead walkways of the two towers. He saw a few whispy clouds, but none heavy enough to promise him a cool downpour while he ran. As he looked up at the suspended walkway between the two towers of the bridge, he gasped in surprise.

Peering over the edge of the upper walkway were three very distinctive red heads that could only belong to Weasleys. The big bushy brunette had to be Granger, and the two black heads must be Blaise and Harry. The blurry distanced figures waved at him and he smiled, feeling thoroughly superior to the rest of the runners. None of the other supporting fans were as high as his.

Dropping his eyes back down, he was surprised when he looked straight at someone's arse. Each cheek was divided by a leopard print thong and jiggling with each step, Draco was hypnotised. It seemed that the contestant in front of him had opted for minimal attire. _Oh the horror…_

Quickly overtaking the scantily clad sprinter, Draco dropped the plastic cup on the floor and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

_xxx_

His Twitchy Leg Syndrome was back. Annoyingly so. Every other step, his thigh would spasm and make his would leg involuntarily jig, making it awkward to settle his foot back onto the floor for the next step. He had just hit the twenty six mile mark and he was coming into The Mall, that silly pretentious Muggle palace that would be dwarfed by Malfoy Manor. It was looming up from the horizon.

Why couldn't the race finish at Tower Bridge instead? That way he would have plenty of water on hand to quench his sand dry mouth and he could dive into the Thames and no one would notice him peeing. Had he really just contemplated pissing in the Thames?! _Eugh, I'm delirious!_

He was so close. It felt like yearning. He could see the finish line, the yellow arch with the time meter ticking away the seconds in big block numbers. Though he was quite near the front, Draco felt the whole body of runners pick up their pace from the inattentive zombie shuffle to something that resembled jogging. They were out to win.

Trying to pump determination back into his unwilling bones, he also picked up his pace, dodging around a man dressed up as a nurse, and for once was too focused to toss the pansy a disparaging comment.

At the last hundred yards, Draco was disheartened to see people already crossing the finish line, but he started in a flat out run to keep his advantage against Mister my-uniform-reveals-too-much. His knees hurt and his muscles melted on the marrow as blood rushed to his ears. Each step was like walking on wood flooring after jumping on a trampoline for three hours. It felt too hard, and the soles of his feet were raw, and he couldn't breathe. He almost went into a panic attack when the sun spots started to blur his vision again, but then he rationalised that it was because he was looking up to the sky.

The whole year's accomplishment felt very anticlimactic as he finally put his foot over the finishing line, passing beneath the clock which proclaimed his finishing time of 2 hours, and 18 minutes, 56 seconds. Staggering across the line, he went to collapse on the ground, his steps coming to a shuddering arrest as he tried to stop his legs from their automated movements.

"DRACO!" Grappling around widely, breathing harshly through his nose, mouth and eyeballs, he spotted his familiar house colours a little way off by the railings.

"Sir! Sir! Stay behind the railings! SIR!"

Harry ran over, his arms eloping around Draco's waist, taking his whole dead weight as he finally gave out. "Hi," he said softly, pushing back the sweaty hair off Draco's face. Harry planted a kiss on his lips, but Draco could only keep the contact for a second before he had to pull away again to draw in beloved air. "I can't believe you came in twenty first!"

"T-t-tw…"_BREATHE DAMNIT_! "T-t-twenty…firs-s-st only?!"

"SIRS! SIRS! This area is for contestants ONLY!" Draco shuddered as ice cold water was poured over his head, making several young women beyond the railings scream.

"Slytherin wins!" cried the twins, each grabbing one of Draco's arms and holding it above his head, "Champion of the Muggles! WOO!" Both Harry and Draco laughed at the twins antics, then Harry turned his attention to his boyfriend.

Ana, the shop assistant, turned to Lauren, the gym secretary, and asked, puzzled, "What's a Muggle?"

"You are," stated Cheryl, watching as her ex-patient got snogged senseless, and cast a quick Tripping Hex in the direction of those bloody dancing ginger twins who were getting in the way of her view.

_xxx_

**End-eth Chapter Twelve**

* * *

**Epilogue**

Everyone avoided looking at the end of the table, opting to talk to one another about an eventful day rather than look towards Draco, who was doing naughty things with his fried chicken leg at the end of the table. "Oh Merlin, I've missed you so much. Just wait till I get home! I'll order a whole bucket of you and eat you in bed…god, don't ever leave me again!"

Harry would have felt hurt by Draco's blatant affair with his fatty meal, but he was honestly too happy and proud of his boyfriend's accomplishment to do anything but smile till his cheeks hurt. Draco had managed to raise a good few grand for charity, had ran the whole twenty six miles much faster than Harry had predicted, and had worked himself into quite the sweaty, sexy little runner that Harry wanted to take home straight away and ravish. Instead they sat a restaurant in London, with Draco still sitting in those devilishly tight lycra shorts that Harry was currently feeling the contours of under the table.

"Draco, stop serenading your chicken. SPEECH!" yelled Fred, banging his knife and fork on the table in a state of petulance. George copied his brother and soon the whole table was demanding a speech, creating a noise that was likely to get them chucked out.

Draco didn't try to stand up because Harry's hand was doing a number on him, so he merely raised his pitcher of ice cold water that he had insisted upon when entering the establishment. "All I want to say," began Draco. The table hushed down, and everyone grabbed their glasses for the toast. "Is that that marathon…is a bloody long run. Thank you."

Everyone laughed and clashed their glasses together, taking swigs of alcohol in Draco's name.

"So," said Harry, turning in his seat slightly to look at Draco. Everyone else stopped to hear them interact, because they were nosy blighters. Running a hand over the encaged bulge under the table, he continued, "At least it's over now, eh Draco? No more diets, and jogs, and definitely no more personal instructors."

"Here, here!" yelled the twins. Everyone toasted to a calmer year ahead.

Draco didn't join in. He poured out a glass of water from the pitcher conveniently placed at his elbow and took a sip. Placing the glass back on the table, a little water ring appeared in the paper tablecloth as he looked up at everyone with a smirk on his face. "I think I'll try again next year."

Harry groaned.

_xxx_

**End-eth the Epilogue and the whole bloody fic! Ta da!**

**

* * *

Author's Note: **So...That's the end. What did you all think? As you may have all realised, Draco has been Loved By All since the very beginning, making this whole marathon business and my fic completely redundant, lol! But someone's got to write about the completely pointless stuff, and it might as well be me for my first novel-ish length fic. Once I get another plot bunny, I am sure there will be the return of Crazy!Draco! Whether as a new story...or maybe...cough as a sequel...we'll never know. Anyways, hope you all enjoyed the fic! Review if it pleases you! Bye! Neville for President, WOOOO! 


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